


The Discord Trials

by Botts (Bottzy)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Dangerous Household Tasks, For a Friend, I waited 10 chapters to add that tag, Interns & Internships, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Past Night Vale, Past Relationship(s), Post-College Cecil, Welcome to Night Vale - Freeform, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bottzy/pseuds/Botts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil Baldwin shares an NVCR internship with Steve Carlsberg. As their relationship blossoms, NVCR's radio host vanishes, inciting a set of Intern Trials. These intern assessments grant the chance to become the next radio host. With Steve & Cecil being the interns available at the time, the Intern Trials morph with their world, filled with virtues, vices, and Night Vale's wonders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night Vale Möbius strip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trickyzoe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Trickyzoe).



He stood by the fax machine, counting the seconds as they blurred past. Excitement trickled through his wide eyes.

What next? A declaration of war between citizens? Rico Senior organizing a special deal on pizzas on behalf of the mayor's birthday? _Another herd of glow-in-the-dark sheep?_

Cecil Baldwin beamed at the memory of the bioluminescent sheep. They lit the way home last week when they escaped the local ranch at the west side of town. His own inquiry into the late-night matter revealed yet another insight: they were very polite sheep, more than welcome to light the way home when the streetlights exploded from the seasonal night fog.

The fax machine whirred, lights pulsating. Cecil ran his fingers over the numbered buttons before plucking the newly printed news. He whipped around, eyes glossing over the faxed paper. With the air-conditioned tundra of the Night Vale Community Radio station, the warmth of the paper renewed the life in his fingers.

Cecil rushed down the hall, turning the corner. He knocked once before entering the recording office. The current Voice of Night Vale glanced up, continuing to speak into the microphone. A soothing voice for the midnight slot, lulling you to sleep despite their silvery, disembodied voice prodding you awake.

It was a voice Cecil listened to each and every day, when he woke up and as he fell asleep.

He handed the radio host the fax, bowing and exiting in one fell swoop. His heartbeat raced even as he rushed down the hall, back to the tech room where he meant to spend the remaining half hour of his internship shift.

A hand snapped out and latched onto Cecil's wrist, whisking him into the break room. The radio's words drifted into the air via the machine to his right, and Cecil's head turned to listen to that even as he bumped into his fellow intern partner.

"How's my cherry pie?" Steve Carlsberg asked.

Cecil looked up at the lanky intern in front of him. "Distracted, thank you for asking," he said as he straightened. "City Council just banned the left side of our main street."

"How do you determine the left side of a street?" Steve asked. He reached over and turned down the volume dial of the radio.

Cecil leaned over and turned it back up. "The side with the street lights, of course," he said, as if it were as obvious as he meant it out to be. "Which, if you listened, you would know."

"My apologies," Steve said. "I was busy preparing a gift for you."

Cecil's eyebrows raised. "Surprise? Me?"

Steve nodded. "Close your eyes," he said.

Cecil nodded, lowering his eyelids. He listened to his radio host superior, the voice soothing Cecil's senses with the flow's nuances. Calming his pulse. Sending waves of lullaby-like tones.

A quick peck. Vitalizing. Sending a subdued shockwave through Cecil's skin. Steve's soft lips brushed over Cecil's chapped ones. The flutter of embarrassment choked Cecil's words in his throat. He opened his eyes, realization settling that Steve stole a kiss when Cecil _totally wasn't prepared_ and surely Steve could not acknowledge Cecil anymore after finding out Cecil's lips were horrendously dehydrated and as dry as the desert.

Steve pulled out a box from behind his back, tied with a purple ribbon. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself to that. But in case you didn't like _that_ , I brought some scones."

"'Scones'?" Cecil repeated.

Steve's smile vanished as his jaw dropped. "Don't tell me you've never had scones."

Cecil swallowed, panic clogging his throat. He shook his head.

"Ever?" With another shake of Cecil's head, Steve chuckled. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "I can't believe this." He shrugged. "Guess I'll introduce you to the wonders of my scones."

"Well, what are they?" Cecil asked.

"They're these sort of biscuit bread things," Steve said. "Hard to explain really. But these are blueberry ones."

"Weren't blueberries decried extinct the other day? That's what the mayor said."

Steve pursed his lips. "Just pretend we saved these particular berries before they went extinct," he said. "Taste them. I made 'em myself."

Cecil took the box and removed the purple ribbon that matched his eye color. He tried his best not to think about the repercussions of this meal. Blueberries having been declared extinct in Night Vale, it meant Steve Carlsberg believed Cecil was worthy of having the _very last blueberries_ in all of Night Vale.

Cecil. _Worthy_. He was honored at the very notion. But for Steve to think of Cecil so highly, when dozens admired Steve Carlsberg's very presence, the dulcet tones of his voice, the persuasive abyss of his eyes? The perfection of Steve Carlsberg attracted many, and with the added perk of him baking?

_Steve Carlsberg was so cool._

Cecil opened the box, ribbon hanging on his arm, and picked up one of the triangular biscuit bread; its crumbly exterior resembled cookies more than biscuits. Cecil saw the spots where the endangered blueberries sunk into the scone's crust, and he took a bite. Crumbs trickled from his lips, the light, buttery taste pleasing to his taste buds.

"So?" Steve smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "How do you like them?"

Cecil chewed and swallowed, looking up to Steve and smiled. "They're fantastic." He took another bite, holding the box in one hand and his scone in the other.

"Let's just keep those here in the break room," Steve said, taking the box away with Cecil flustering because it made him look immensely gluttonous over delicious scones. "If we get crumbs all over the tech room, Station Management'll have my head."

"They'll have our souls, too," Cecil said between bites.

Steve sighed, leaning against the counter with the coffee dispenser. He set the box of scones down behind him, then folded his arms across his chest. "Don't you think the voice is a little... weary?"

"Pardon?"

Steve nodded his head in the direction of the radio beside him. "Sounds more and more tired with each and every broadcast."

"Perhaps it's the time period," Cecil said. He checked his watch. "It'll be one in the morning soon. Some people get tired, and some do not."

"Why talk on the radio if you're tired?" Steve asked.

"Because it is our duty to give the news to our people!" Cecil cried. "Night Vale Community Radio has that responsibility! We must deliver news, keep the community calendar updated, rise to call upon the community in the case of trouble! We save lives, Stevie. We save lives and we keep everybody updated so danger does not reach them. And we help pass on the word of the City Council, as well as the Secret Police!"

"You can't even trust something with a name like Secret Police," Steve said, frowning.

"They are secret so that they can squish the flames of those who seek to do harm to our community," Cecil explained, continuing on with his completely justifiable tirade. "Our radio station helps them! We do good, Steve Carlsberg. But to be the one who _tells_ everybody the truth? Who _tells_ everybody the good news and the bad news? To be the one people fall asleep to, wake up to?" Cecil let out a dreamy sigh, closing his eyes and holding his scone with his knobby fingers. "That's my dream, Steve Carlsberg. That's my dream."

Steve tilted his head slightly and grinned. "You're a real tentacutie when you're off in your dreamland, Cecil."

Cecil flushed. In his moment of agony, he took another bite of his scone, both because it was delicious and because he didn't know what to say. "... Is that referring to the recently acquired tentacles?"

"Well, they're kind of settling around your neck, I would assume so."

Cecil's hand rushed to his neck. He felt the squirming tendrils of the newly awakened tentacles. He gaped, then concentrated on forcing them back. He felt them settle under his skin again, where they mixed in with the several other moving tattoos.

"That's still cool," Steve said. "Normally I'd say something about your undying loyalty to NVCR, but I suppose the baby tentacles can be talked about."

"I-I haven't learned to control them yet," Cecil said as his gaze wandered downwards. He stared at his shoes, mentally kicking himself. Steve Carlsberg must have been regretting his decision to give him scones. Sugar had a tendency to incite Cecil to ramble on and on about various subjects, of anything and everything, such as NVCR, the competition between the Whispering Forest and the Metallic Forest, the missing Apollo tapes, a scientist's death ray, and Rico's pizza slices.

"You haven't learned to control the tentacles yet? That's cute, Cecil." Steve leaned forward and pecked Cecil again. "You should probably head back to the tech room. See if any other news arrived."

Cecil nodded, holding the last of his scone. "T-thanks for the scone," he said, whipping around and zipping out of the break room.

Back in the tech room, Cecil ran his fingers over his lips. A rough, flexible terrain where the softest lips always find their way onto his. It was very easy to forget Steve Carlsberg chose him, of all people, to share an intern shift with. It was hard to remind himself that Steve Carlsberg asked him out all those weeks ago, eager to spend time with Cecil Baldwin, whose ears were glued to the radio and whose gaze rested on a remarkable young man who found his interests scattered with the people and his reasoning, although out of place in Night Vale, being Cecil's object of fascination.

And Cecil, apparently, was Steve's.

* * *

The internship shift ended at one in the morning, music filling the air as the talking slot ended for the night. Steve and Cecil left together, the lights from the interior of the radio station lighting the sidewalk they departed from. Miscellaneous insects flew through the air, chirped in their cloaked hiding spots behind rocks and under plants. Winter moisture clung to their skin, their short sleeves revealing raised goosebumps. Chills ran through Cecil's spine, but not due to the weather. Steve's warm hand found their way to Cecil's, clasping around Cecil's fingers and netting with his hand. Cecil watched his tattoos slide around his arms in their flustered flurry, and he stared at the sidewalk ahead of them.

When they had to walk through Night Vale's main street, Cecil convinced Steve [read: after desperate, whispered begging] to stay on the right side of the street.

"I still don't see why we had to stay on the right side of the street," Steve said.

"Stevie." Cecil sighed. "City Council clearly announced a shortage of protection from the sewer dragons. Therefore, we must do our very best, as a united community, to stay alert for one another."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard." After a glare from Cecil, Steve added, "Okay, it's reasonable with Night Vale, but it's still the silliest thing."

"You have to trust the City Council!"

"You're quick to defend them." Steve walked around Cecil, stepping off the sidewalk pavement.

"Where are you going?" Cecil asked as he yanked Steve back onto the sidewalk.

"To go prove you wrong," Steve said.

"It's dangerous!"

"The Council is just distracting Night Vale from reality," Steve said. "Everyone's insane."

"Careful about what you say," Cecil said. "The Secret Police is very adamant about protecting the town name."

"I'm not slandering. I'm merely expressing an opinion."

"An opinion is a very dangerous thing to hold."

They walked, hands swinging to an unheard rhythm, and only separated when they had to turn in different directions to get home. Steve presented him with one final kiss, one that lasted longer than the others. Cecil realized he tasted of scones, and the echo of the taste followed him home.

Cecil hopped up the steps to his front porch, pulling out a set of keys. He winced at the wood creaking; he hoped not to wake his parents, despite the fact that they listened for his arrival every night.

Pushing his key into the lock, Cecil twisted his key and turned the doorknob. Pulling out his key and pocketing it, he wiped his feet on the welcome mat, keeping his gaze down as he slipped off his shoes and stepped into the lit hallway.

Cecil turned and closed the door, locking it via doorknob and bolt.

"Welcome back."

Cecil's eyes widened and he whipped around, the voice belonging not to that of his parents, but rather, someone else entirely.

"Nice to see you again, too," Steve said.

Cecil glanced around, questions flooding his mind.

He had stepped through the door in his house, expecting to find his parents.

Instead he stepped into the Night Vale Community Radio station, its hallway lit with its bright lights, and Steve waiting for him.


	2. Human Asterisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Möbius strip led Cecil back to the Night Vale Community Radio Station. It is not his home, but rather his home away from home. News carried by voices alerts him of troubles in the early hours of the morning. But tomorrow does not exist, so morning will not happen, either.

Cecil whipped around to open the door again, but he found the radio station's translucent doors with the station logo printed on them. Resigned, he twisted and faced Steve. "What's going on?" he asked.

Steve shrugged. "Beats me. I tried walking into my house. Ended up here."

"Me, too," Cecil said, looking around. "NVCR looks the same as we left it. But..." His eyes trailed over the OFF AIR sign in the upper corner of the lobby. "Shouldn't we be back on?"

"After the musical break, yeah," Steve said, glancing back to see the sign. "My question here is, why did we end up back here?"

"Because our presence was needed," Cecil said, adjusting his shirt's collar. "I'm relieved to still have my intern shirt on, at the very least."

"Of all things to be worried about, you're concerned about that, Cecil?"

"Yes?" Cecil raised an eyebrow, as if his shirt wasn't the thing to be most concerned about.

He spotted the picture frames on the wall that displayed various past interns and photos of the various community members gathering for group photos. Two of the photos faded into a charcoal void that reminded Cecil of the weather from two nights ago. Inside the golden frames, the oblivion stirred, rippling as a new object formed.

"What are those things doing?" Steve asked, staring at the two photo frames.

"Sending us mail," Cecil said in his matter-of-fact tone.

"There are  _envelopes_  forming in those frames."

"Yes." Cecil blinked as he mentally added the mailing system to the list of Normal Things Steve Carlsberg Did Not Understand. When the envelopes fully formed inside the frames, he reached in and pulled the envelopes from the two separate frames. The endless ink void tickled Cecil when he reached in, sprinkles of void water misting his skin as he pulled out.

"That's breaking the laws of physics," Steve said as Cecil handed him the envelope addressed to a Mr. Carlsberg.

Cecil glanced at the frames, which had returned to their intern memory beauty. He pulled open the envelope flap, fingers sliding under and pulling out the letter concealed inside. He opened the note and saw the symbols, withholding a sigh in the case that Station Management was watching.

Steve Carlsberg believed otherwise. "I can't believe this," he groaned. "It's entirely in Sumerian."

"We  _did_  take classes. It would make sense to review."

"This is absurd! There is no one speaking this ancient—!" Steve sighed after a cross look from Cecil. "All right. If we both focus on translating, we'll figure this out in no time. Cooperation is the key. There  _are_  people speaking Sumerian, and I'm just aware. Accept it and move on, Steve. Accept it and move on."

Cecil nodded, gaze already concentrated on the letter. He judged the symbols in his mind, weighed the translation options, and pieced the letter's contents together piece by piece.

The silence between them reminded Cecil of the day Steve Carlsberg asked him out. It was in the early hours of the morning, hours before their internship ceremony started. A sunny salmon sky stretched over his front porch, birds sang their sweet songs, and Cecil waited for the screams from across the street to stop. An altogether pleasant morning.

They never stopped, the screams, but those bloodcurdling cries somehow attracted Steve Carlsberg, who delivered the morning paper then.

Cecil blinked. The blood rose to his cheeks, crimson marks leftover from the rest of the memories that trickled into his mind. He gulped, glancing back to his paper again, translated Sumerian helping him decode the rest of the paper.

"The radio host vanished..." Cecil whispered, decoding as he ran his eyes over the symbols. His eyes widened. "Night Vale's voice vanished!" The blood drained from his cheeks, concentrated in his tight grip on the paper. "But how? We just saw—!"

"It's been almost an hour since," Steve said. "But, assuming our higher-up has truly vanished into thin air, then who's supposed to lead the news segments?"

"We  _have_  to have someone report," Cecil said, panic flipping his stomach. "It's our duty as the radio station. To spread the truth out. To report." He glanced over the letter's lower half, shoulders slumping when he read over the rest of the words. "Oh."

"Why so glum, sugar plum?" Steve asked, unable to hide his smirk from the effortless delivery of his rhyme.

"It says in Station Management's contract what to do," Cecil said, staring at his letter. "If the host of NVCR is permanently vacationing, moving, freezing into a chunk of ice, maimed, drowned, vanishes by mysterious circumstances, blinks out of existence, or anything for that matter, disappearance-wise..." Cecil frowned. "Well, who wrote this atrocious contract? The grammatical structure of it is entirely wrong.

"What does it  _say_ , Cecil."

"Station Management may and will incite the Intern Trials."

"Freezes into a chunk of ice," Steve grumbled.

"These Intern Trials," Cecil continued, "are to start as soon as the NVCR host is unable to continue the next community news section. The pool of interns selected for the trials will be those whose shifts were closest to the time of inconvenience."

"That's suspicious," Steve said. "We're the only interns around in the first place."

"Maybe there used to be multiple intern shifts. I am positive we have more interns that share this studio with us!"

"They're dead, numbskull."

"Oh." Cecil stiffened. "My skull is very much not numb, despite the fact that it cannot sense pain."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, so we're doing these intern trials. What are they for?"

"It says nothing else. Oh, there's a postscript." Cecil ran his fingers over the Braille etched into the bottom. "It says... Meet at the... Mine shaft?"

"The recently closed one?" Steve asked. "On the outskirts of town?"

"The very one, I would guess!"

"But it's already tomorrow! The next news slot is soon."

Cecil smiled. "Stevie, didn't you hear the radio earlier last evening? City Council announced tomorrow will not exist."

"What?"

"Tomorrow doesn't exist," Cecil said. He folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope. "Well, let's get going. We've no time to waste."

"But tomorrow doesn't exist."

"We move even as we skip," Cecil said. "Why should time be any different?"

* * *

They traveled down the street, holding their envelopes at their sides. The diner beside the radio station glowed even at this late hour, unsurprising as it was an All Night diner. Its neon sign pulsated in hues of mint green, and Cecil swore he could smell the faint aroma of their classic strawberry pie.

On Sundays they had spider venom milkshakes. Shame City Council canceled tomorrow.

They passed the arcade and bowling alley, Steve flipping his envelope over in his hands.

"It's freaking impossible for tomorrow to not exist," Steve said finally. "We left after midnight, for crying out loud."

"We never passed through tomorrow," Cecil said. "I would guess that we are in a limbo period. At this point in nonexistent time? City Council must be preparing the time shift."

"But time is still passing."

Cecil gestured to his watch, the clock hands frozen in place. He asked Steve to pull out his pager, then showed him the pager's time slot, clock also frozen. Pointing to the enormous clock attached to the side of City Hall, Cecil revealed the present constant in Night Vale—frozen time.

"It's not a big deal, really," Cecil said as Steve let out a dejected sigh. Cecil pulled out the pocket watch his grandfather gave him before the desert mirages consumed him (a camping trip gone horribly wrong, as Cecil didn't know how to get back home at that age). The pocket watch did not tick, either, and Cecil plopped it back into his pocket.

Passing through the street with City Hall, Cecil reminded Steve to stay away from the left side.

Reminders about past news or not, it did not prevent Cecil from his fleeting tangents.

"Are we even allowed to approach the mine shaft?" Cecil asked. "It's closed, isn't it? The Sheriff's Secret Police haven't confirmed whether we're allowed to near the place or not."

"We'll be fine. Station Management wouldn't send us into a death trap."

"This wouldn't be the first time," Cecil said as they crossed an intersection. "I'm fine with that. The life of a reporter is as dangerous as it is exciting. It's the trespassing I'm fretting over."

"You're an airhead, Cecil. What are you possibly worrying about?" Steve hooked elbows with Cecil.

Cecil clung to Steve, not noticing tentacle tendrils wrapping around Steve's upper arm. It's recently closed and all," Cecil began. "Wouldn't it be trespassing? And City Council would definitely  _not_  approve and I need to respect their decisions because Night Vale is a united community and its support needs to be doubly so—!"

Steve patted Cecil's fingers. "You're being a nincompoop," he said quietly. His lips curled into a gentle smile as he added, "But if worst comes to worst, Cecil, I'll protect my mini Cthulhu."

Cecil smiled at him before he realized what the nickname referred to. He willed his tentacles back under, and they slid back under his skin.

They walked arm in arm down the block and passed a handful of other streets before they arrived at the National Guard station. Cecil waved to those in uniform, letter still in hand, and the guards passed them through the gates with a couple of quick waves.

"We were expected," Steve said. "See, Cecil? You have nothing to worry about. We have permission to be here."

Cecil gulped. They continued down the long expanse of road after the National Guard station. While Cecil knew City Council continued to fund the National Guard for their position, the Council did not think the long expanse of road after that needed to be lit up at night, as the only thing past the station was the now-closed mine shaft.

Their pace kicked at the larger stones waiting on the paved road. The wind whispered, patting Cecil's cheeks as it ran its breeze through his puffy blond locks. He caught wisps of the wind's incessant whispers, playful whispers about trespassing into the mine shaft and teasing nips at Cecil's complete adoration for Steve Carlsberg and  _would they just stop slipping into his thoughts already_.

He stole a glance to his left, where Steve walked on with that stride of his. Straight military posture (did Steve have a military family?), eyes staring straight ahead (did the wind only bother Cecil and not Steve?), the confident gait of someone who deserved to be showered with luck.

And maybe, perhaps, showered with the head position at NVCR. But that was Cecil's dream, too, and he didn't want to admit that he did not want to share that role.

That secret, held under his tongue and clogging his throat with unease, controlled Cecil, led him to bouts of nervousness against this entire ordeal. But if Station Management wanted to grant them the Intern Trials, he had no choice but to follow.

"We're here," Steve said as they stepped off the paved road and walked over gravel and the dust of centuries past.

Cecil craned his neck up to look at the night sky. It glittered with its sparkling kisses amidst a sea of black. "The sky's beautiful at this time. With the creeping hint of light."

Steve shrugged, looking up. "Maybe after all this, we can go out in the desert. You and I. Alone." He grinned. "Staring at the night sky together."

"That'd be nice," Cecil said absently, eyes trained on the sky.

Steve Carlsberg understood little of the Night Vale Community Radio Station. Cecil's own history there latched around his family's history, and he knew the tales behind NVCR well.

And double internships? They never lasted well, and Cecil knew that. He listened to the family stories, the tales woven with grief, lost, and distrust. Sparkling purple eyes staring into the wrinkles of his family, lines etched in their faces that told stories of their own about NVCR.

That didn't mean he had to believe them.


	3. Bells of Ireland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coal dust. Strangers. The peculiarity of the recently closed mine shaft, the questions in his head that arose concerning the Intern Trials.
> 
> No one ever asked what the local mine shaft mined for. Now that it had closed, Cecil did not exactly find comfort in approaching it.
> 
> Coal? Surely it would have been something else. Although it scratched his throat, the dust did, and that never helped his situation.

They stepped over abandoned cigarettes left there by generations past, gravel crunching under their feet and the mine shaft's headframe towering over the building with its exposed wood and metal. The wind's comments poked at Cecil's confidence.

Not that Cecil wanted to admit it, of course. He had pressing matters to attend to.

The doors to the mine shaft building opened, and a pair of twins slipped out. Steve and Cecil neared them, and Cecil caught snippets of their whispered bickering. The taller one ducked back inside, and the remaining twin walked over to them, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her shorts.

"Who are you?" Steve asked her.

"More importantly," Cecil said, "are you two all right?"

"Safe and sound," the young woman replied. "But that's because we're not the ones heading underground."

The young woman's twin sister shuffled out of the building, the wooden door creaking behind her as it closed. She stood by her sister, towering over her sister with her ankle boots. She held a pair of equipment, handing it to Steve and Cecil.

Cecil glanced at his gas mask and flashlight, testing the flashlight's weight and grip in his hands. He swung the gas mask around with his finger curled on the latch. "The air's toxic?" he asked.

"The air should be purified enough for you to not need it," she said. She smiled, sheepishly shrugging. "It's just in case. When we stepped in earlier, we noticed all the dust everywhere. So we thought we should at least give you a purifyer. To combat the dust, I mean."

"Oh,  _that's_  something to look forward to," Steve grumbled. "Asphyxiation. Great."

The shorter twin stepped forward. "You'd be surprised at how many are into that," she said. She cleared her throat, hands on her hips. "Ahem. The name's Bridget, don't wear it out. Call me Bridge and you're digging your grave.  _With your tongue._ "

"She means well, I promise," her twin said with the sweet tone Bridget did not own. Having nothing to hold, she stepped back and toyed with her thigh high tights. They were a pale pink color, and stood out in the moonlit darkness.

Cecil thought Bridget's sister sounded much more friendlier. A small part of him chuckled at the peculiarity of the nickname "Bridge".

Bridget narrowed her eyes. "Watch it, eggplant eyes."

"Think she meant you," Steve said, nudging Cecil as he chuckled.

"My apologies," Cecil said.

Bridget shrugged. "Apology accepted." She snapped her head to face Steve. "And if I hear  _one_  more thought snark out of you, Carlykins, I'm gonna ram you in the throat."

The terse remark wiped the smile off Steve's face.

"She doesn't like being woken up at miscellaneous times," the taller twin said. "Oh!" she cried, holding out her hand to Cecil. "I'm Maeve, pleased to meet you. Bridget's the older twin between the two of us."

"Charmed to meet you both," Cecil said, shaking hands. Maeve repeated the gesture to Steve.

"I assume you know us already," Steve said. "Were you expecting us? Of course you were."

"Unfortunately," Bridget drawled, rolling her eyes. "We could hear you from a mile away." She tilted her head, netted her fingers together, and batted her eyelashes, a transparent smile playing at her lips. " _My mini Cthulhu_."

Steve lowered his gaze. "Gonna Audi 5000 out of here if they're going to repeat that," he grumbled, shoving his fingers into his jeans.

Cecil flushed. "How did you hear that?" he asked the twins.

"With my ears, numbskull," Bridget said. She folded her arms across her chest. " _So_. We were given the task of managing the Intern Trials for you two. We've done it the last few times. Might as well continue tradition."

"Do you know where our boss is?" Steve asked. "Disappeared from the station, you know."

"That's what happens after expelling enough energy," Bridget said. "Don't be surprised."

"She means to say your host won't be back," Maeve said. She tried to smile at them, the apology glowing in her eyes, but it faded quickly. "Sorry 'bout that. No one knows about your higher-up's location."

"So you two lucky interns have three trials," Bridget said. "Easy rules. Win 2 out of 3, congrats, you're the new voice of Night Vale."

"What if you lose?" Cecil asked.

"I don't help people who haven't even started the game," Bridget said. "Trial number one takes place right here at the mine shaft."

"Why's that?"

"Be lucky it isn't at Desert Bluffs," Bridget said. She cringed, checking her nails and flicking coal dust off her fingers.

"The task for the first trial is to go into the mine shaft and retrieve the treasure left behind," Maeve explained with her honeyed voice. "Feel free to take any equipment left behind by the miners."

"What's the treasure?" Steve asked.

Bridget stared at him. " _Sweetie_ , it wouldn't be a test if we told you the answers," Bridget said, her smile plastic.

"You'll know when you see them," Maeve said. "Please be safe!"

"Head into the elevator," Bridget said. "Don't die. If anything tries talking to you, don't listen." She inhaled a deep breath. "And for the  _love of the glow cloud_ , don't break the seals on the floor and ceiling of the elevator. Not that you'll see the ceiling one. But you'll see the floor one when you step in."

"What seals?" Cecil asked.

"You'll see," Bridget said, glancing to Steve. "And if you're asking why, Carlykins, well. There's a reason Night Vale closed it down." She shooed them away. "Now, run along. Can't waste any time during the time shift."

"Good luck," Maeve said as Bridget walked around them and shoved Steve and Cecil towards the building.

Cecil stumbled forward, Steve reaching out and holding him steady as they walked over. Steve opened the door, gesturing for Cecil to walk in first. Cecil thanked him, fumbling with his gas mask and flashlight.

The stench of coal knocked into him, and Cecil sneezed. He rubbed his nose, and another sneeze rocketed.

"Careful there," Steve said as he stepped in behind Cecil. The door creaked shut.

Cecil flicked on his flashlight, navigating the beam in one sweep from one side to the other. "Look at all this machinery," he whispered, adjusting his collar to cover his mouth. Piles of coal remained on a conveyor belt, glass and broken bottles scattered over the floor. Parts of the roof had caved in, broken splinters fallen over the dirt flooring.

The flashlight's beam ended on a pair of glass eyes and a filter. Cecil jumped.

"That's not funny, Steve," Cecil said as he heard Steve's laughter muffled from inside the gas mask.

"It'll be easier to move around," Steve said, the filter transforming his voice with his echoic breathing.

Cecil pulled on his gas mask, the light beam scattering as his hand holding the flashlight swished this way and that. "I think it's a tad bit too large on me," he said as the gas mask dropped over his face.

"Maybe you'll grow into it while we're in the cave," Steve said. He gestured with a nod of his head over to the corner. "Elevator's that way."

"No, that's the elevator for the coal," Cecil said, heading the other way. He pointed his flashlight's beam in the direction of a smaller elevator surrounded by footprints scattered in the coal dust.

He heard running behind him, and Steve slowed down once he reached Cecil's side. Together the two stepped into the creaking elevator, Cecil glancing up and down with a wary gaze. He stared at the exposed wood, the rusted metal, and understood the overarching anxiety despite the fact that the cable wires were still taut and the wooden flooring wasn't entirely spoiled. Cecil removed his gas mask, and the aroma of rotting wood nudged him, politely, false pretenses ignored and its delicate beauty wafting into his senses.

"The air's fine, you know," Cecil said as he looked around. He ran his fingers over the yellow chain link fence, flakes of rust clinging to his fingers.

Steve fiddled with the gate. He closed it. "How do we operate this?" he asked, yanking off his gas mask to stare at the controls.

"There's a counterweight to this system," Cecil said, looking around. "Although we can't see it. Suspension forces operate to help the elevator car go down. But I believe someone has to help us."

"Bogue, man. The twins didn't even  _look_  like they'd step in after us."

Cecil's reply to Steve was cut off as the elevator car rattled. Steve clung to the chain link fence, and dust rained from the ceiling. The suspension cables moved, and lights flickered on in the elevator. The car lurched as it traveled below the surface, surrounding the pair in flickering lights, dust, and creaking metal. Cecil glanced at the ground; the available light revealed an intricate design painted onto the wooden floor with spray paint.

"Station Management wouldn't have hired just those two," Cecil said. "Someone else has to be taking care of us."

"I'm thinking you don't know all that much about mine shafts," Steve said. "It's like you and that thing about mountains. Talking all that static and the like."

"There is a fine difference," Cecil said. "Mine shafts exist and mountains do not."

Steve shrugged, toying with the controls. "If you want to lie to yourself, cherry pie, fine. No big deal." He pressed a button. "I think we should get off on separate floors. To cover more ground."

"But these were closed  _for a reason_ ," Cecil said. He turned off his flashlight, glancing up at the flickering lights before staring at the seal-covered floor with their curlicues and ancient symbols. "These seals on the ground are mighty suspicious, don't you think?"

"Didn't the twins say something about keeping something in?" Steve asked. The elevator slowed to a halt. "I'm getting off on the second floor. It's better if we split up to cover more ground."

"There's no time limit, though," Cecil said. He flipped his gas mask over in his hands, running his fingers over the glass goggles and bulky filter.

Cecil stared at Steve, catching his partner's gaze. Steve's eyes were sometimes a pleasant dark color, like water rushing over obsidian. Sometimes, such as now when the elevator slowed to a halt, Steve's eyes were venomous, like the gloss of a black widow as the spider prepared a net.

"We'll be fine," Steve said with a reassuring voice, carefully, choosing his words with the strategic rise and fall of his stare. To pry his eyes away from the guilt reflected in Cecil's curious gaze. "Don't worry, Cecil, we'll meet up later. In half an hour, okay? Just come back to the elevator. We'll look around then, report what we found."

Steve pulled the gate door open and stepped out, closing it behind him. He waved farewell before stepping further into the abyss of the tunnel.

Cecil frowned, stepping over to the control panel. He closed his eyes, palm raised over the controls. Eyelids lowered, he slid his fingers over the buttons, finally pressing the one that called out to him the most. He opened his eyes as the elevator lurched.

He did not know what button he picked, to be precise, as he noticed that the buttons had shifted their numbers around, and continued to do so. The overhead lights blinked on and off, buzzing with the electrical drone. He thought he heard a melody playing somewhere in the distance, very much on the verge of his hearing. Cecil watched the dirt walls climb up and over the metal cage he stood in, the scent of the terrain mixing in with the aroma of the rotting wood. He switched to stand on the wooden part of the floor with less rotting remains, although it did not alleviate the anxiety scratching under his skin.

The elevator slowed to a halt, and Cecil pulled open one pair of the elevator cage doors. He stood face to face with a dirt hill from a collapsed mine shaft tunnel. A sigh escaping him, Cecil closed the doors, turned around, and opened the other side of the mine shaft elevator.

Seeing that the landslide had not collapsed that side of the tunnel, Cecil flicked on his flashlight, gas mask at the ready in the case noxious gases fumed. The air smelled clear, light and earth-filled, not at all toxic, but Cecil could not take chances. After all, he needed to meet Steve in half an hour. For now, however, he wanted to be able to see everything lurking in the tunnels. Cecil shone the flashlight beam into the darkness; he saw equipment abandoned, leftover lunches turned into decaying masterpieces by the idea of decomposition. He tasted the earth in the air, drifting and pervading the air like Night Vale's secrets.

_"Don't worry, Cecil, we'll meet up later. In half an hour, okay? Just come back to the elevator. We'll look around then, report what we found."_

Cecil ran over Steve's words in his mind, and his heart grew heavy. With the glow of the elevator's lights behind him, he checked his watch. It did not work, it had never worked during the time shift, and it never will work.

Steve's words still fresh in his mind, Cecil's shoulders slumped. With no way of determining time, Cecil stepped into the tunnel and closed the cage doors behind him. Perhaps Steve forgot. Perhaps Steve would apologize. Cecil clung to the happier possibilities in his mind, knew that Steve Carlsberg had always been forgetful in regards to Night Vale's peculiarities.

The tunnel's oblivion surrounded him, embraced him like a long lost abandoned meal.


	4. A Walk with Decomposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Cecil begin the first trial of retrieving treasure from the recently closed mine shaft. Cecil wanders his own floor. Treasure awaits them, but not only that.

Air pressure. A peculiar thing it was, gravity working with or against a person depending on how high or low they were. Thousands of feet below the desert's surface level, a lightheaded feeling knocked against Cecil's head. His brain expanded and contracted, air pressure sending him its own signals and warnings. He ignored them.

 

He ignored the whispers the draft carried in, or at least tried to. Cecil did not question the idea of wind sliding through the tunnel, but with its air curves the wind dropped hints of small talk by Cecil's ears. Things about Steve's actions. Fears that gripped Cecil's heart. Mostly Steve's actions levels above in the mine shaft. Picking up instruments left behind by miners. Inspecting the ore catching the flashlight's beam. _Steve did a lot of things_ , so the wind said, but _he did not accompany Cecil down the tunnel._

 

The wind was also one to mention that he should not have been there, lurking in the tunnels when City Council was busy reworking time in order to bypass canceling tomorrow. To that, Cecil replied that Council approved of them being there, that it was fine, that Cecil _wholeheartedly_ trusted the government in all that it does. His stern voice carried down the tunnel's darkness.

 

His flashlight beam swept over from side to side every so often, but the lack of lighting and the rough surface forced Cecil to keep his flashlight trained on the path in front of him. He stepped over upturned boulders and dirt bumps. Moldy lunches, spores splashing color into the tunnel, also distracted his footwork.

 

Cecil turned to the right, following the tunnel's path. His flashlight glowed strong, and the nerves in his gut ignored frantic thoughts of the flashlight flickering.

 

_Why give out only one flashlight, anyway?_ Cecil added the question to his mental list of things to ask Maeve about when they were back on the surface. He did not dare ask Bridget, as he risked her temper by doing so.

 

He could have shared one flashlight with Steve, and they could have conserved the battery life of the other one. It made sense. They would have to work extra hard to cover ground by being together, but Steve's company would have been nice.

 

Something crawled behind him. Scattered rocks and pebbles. Cecil turned around, flashlight shining. Lighting up nothing but an empty tunnel corridor.

 

To Cecil, it made sense to keep a monster down in the mine shaft. However, as a born reporter, it was Cecil's duty to find out why said monster had to be kept down there. Most creatures, excluding one or two he met along the way, were harmless and perfectly capable of conversation. Such as the glowing sheep.

 

"I could use a glowing sheep down here," Cecil mused, turning around and walking again.

 

A glowing sheep would have been useful.

 

Steve Carlsberg would have been pleasant.

 

But wants and desires did not find whatever treasure the miners left behind. Cecil tightened his grip on the flashlight and continued on.

 

Even as he checked decomposed meals in lunchboxes and overturned rocks, his mind blazed with thoughts of Steve. The comfort of Steve Carlsberg, the comfort of holding his hand, resting on his shoulder, sharing snacks in the break room, having Steve distract him from the horrors nestled in his mind. Station Management's threats were never constant in his mind thanks to Steve and his penchant for including Cecil in activities that took his precious attention away from disasters.

 

Holding Steve. Needing Steve. Secular wants and desires. Confucius would have had a word with Cecil, had he found out.

 

Cecil listened to the sounds of his breathing, inhales and exhales visible with the cold of the mine shaft tunnels. It was a comfortable kind of cold, the one that refreshed skin with a breeze that should not have existed in the tunnels but did so anyway.

 

The wind asked him to watch his step, and Cecil glanced down. He halted, staring at the skeleton at his feet. Cartilage like paper strips hanging off decayed flesh and yellowed bones. Dust tearing holes in clothing.

 

Cecil blinked and stepped around. Just a skeleton. At least it wasn't a fire ant; those were horrifying. Even bats would have made better company, although at times they were terrifying. 'Terrifying' in the sense that they always wanted to nest in Cecil's puffy hair, but that was another matter entirely.

 

Whispers. They followed Cecil, wrapping around him. Like thousands of voices kissing his ears with their words. Traveling further into the tunnel, it was not only the wind, but something else. Things that crumbled the dirt walls, slithered against his feet, sent jolts of electricity to lighting up the extinguished tunnel lights, only to break the bulbs at the same time. Things that chased the shadows and consumed them, nipped at Cecil's shoes.

 

A constant melody echoed in the tunnel, chirps and whistles, but more often than not it vanished under the stifling sounds of the undiscovered creatures.

 

He walked. They did not bother him. The unknown things did not directly antagonize Cecil. He was fine, and he knew that. There was no need to be frightened.

 

The flashlight did not flicker and functioned as a well-charged battery life would. It did not flicker at all, which would be just Cecil's luck.

 

Well-charged battery life or not, things still bumped his shoulders, nipped at his shoes, scattered shadows on their own. They tested Cecil's patience, a move particularly not wise as Cecil's patience rivaled his belief against the existence of mountains.

 

And everyone knew that mountains simply did not exist. Cecil believed the same.

 

He tripped over a rock, fumbling as pebbles scattered and the flashlight beam went haywire. His gas mask clattered to the ground. The flashlight caught glimpses of shadows and cracks in the tunnel's walls. Cecil fixed his posture, stopping to stare at the cracks on the wall. The cracks in the ceiling, he noted, could fit any given head given the space, and they looked to be more of crannies than cracks. He stepped closer to the cracks in the side walls, running his fingers over the dirt as dust stuck to his palm. He rubbed it away, fixing his NVCR tie and smoothing out the waves in his hair. Picking up the gas mask from where he dropped it, Cecil resumed his travels as he wiped dirt off.

 

Phantom fingers remained on his back where he might have been pushed (he wasn't sure yet, as Cecil had not been looking at the path and that was the first rule of pedestrian safety he had broken).

 

Cecil turned another corner, stepping around a coal cart. The rusted vehicle alone stopped Cecil, and he peeked to see coal piled inside.

 

"Only coal?" he asked aloud. "They mined _coal_ here?"

 

Cecil reached in and picked up a piece of coal that was _most definitely_ _**not**_ coal. It pulsated in his hand as soon as he touched it, shimmering with a blinding light. He snapped his eyes shut and dropped the coal. Sensing the pulsation had stopped, Cecil opened his eyes again. He pointed his flashlight at the coal cart again. The wagon vibrated in its spot on the rails, and Cecil flicked his wrist to move the flashlight beam. The wagon stopped vibrating.

 

Cecil pointed the beam at the wagon, and the cart rumbled. He smiled and repeated the process multiple times.

 

He picked up another coal piece, and that coal piece chirped. He laughed, the sound of the coal a delightful melody that curled his lips into a smile. Chirps of joy. Chirps of mornings when he woke up with a restful night's sleep.

 

Cecil plopped the coal piece back into the pile, but more chirps followed.

 

He glanced up, leaning to gaze around the corner. He heard the tweets travel down the course of the tunnel, and Cecil shined his flashlight beams. Two yellow blobs flew towards him, and Cecil held out an arm.

 

Two canaries landed on him, digging their peachy claws into his forearm. He didn't mind, as he didn't sense any pain. He lowered the light beam, staring at them.

 

“Good evening, birdies,” Cecil said, smiling. “How did you manage to find your way down here?”

 

The canaries chirped, staring at Cecil with remarkably dark eyes that reminded Cecil of black onyx. Upon closer examination, Cecil mentally corrected himself—their eyes _were_ black onyx. No different than the average jeweled citizen of Night Vale. He saw blood leaking onto their claws, tucking his light under his chin and checking their claws for injuries.

 

“It's not them bleeding,” Cecil muttered, rubbing blood droplets between his fingers. His eyebrows raised. “Oh. It's me. Moving on.” Cecil set the flashlight on the coal pile and scratched the neck of the nearest canary. “Aren't you two darlings. Precious things. Although you two should be up on the surface, shouldn't you? Think of your owners, if you've any at all. If they're gone, you should alerting City Council.” The canaries tweeted, singing melodies, and Cecil laughed. “Fans of City Council? What a great surprise. We're all in the same boat here!”

 

One of the canaries plucked at their feathers, and Cecil brushed his fingers over their wings. They pecked at his fingers, not too harshly, but lightly to warn him against any possible sore spots. Cecil took their warnings, keeping his arm raised for their comfort.

 

“I should introduce you two to Stevie,” Cecil said. “He'll _adore_ you two.”

 

Cecil picked up his flashlight, but the canaries abruptly stopped singing. One moment they were silent, turning to one another with feathers ruffling. The next moment they flew off in a rush of feathers, polluting the air in front of Cecil with the aftermath of a pillow fight. He waved various yellow feathers aside, flashlight steady in his hand. He shone the beam down the tunnel; he saw nothing but piles of excavated coal and the rails that outlasted the length of the flashlight beam.

 

Cecil tossed his gas mask into the coal cart, then leaned against the coal cart. It squeaked, complaining as rust clung to its wheels. Pushing and pushing with his fingers splayed against the coal-dusted metal, Cecil grit his teeth. The cart squeaked again as it moved, wheels shrieking as they re-adjusted to the movement.

 

“Didn't this place just close down?” Cecil asked aloud. The wheels shouldn't have needed oil, but the language of tires spoke their own tongue.

 

He did not question it further, as City Council must have intended to add information behind the mining closure whenever the Council determined the time was right.

 

The coal cart wheeled, and with enough momentum Cecil hopped onto the cart's bottom ledge. He rode along for the ride, wind rushing past his face. The cart's wheels protested, but momentum pushed Cecil and the cart down the rails.

 

The cart lurched to a stop as it crashed into a boulder. Cecil fell into a pile of coal, and his touch spurred the odd characteristics of the mined coal. The charcoal pieces hummed, vibrated, glowed neon colors, swirled with galaxies etched on their surfaces. The area around him lit up with the rush of colors bursting, decorating the mine in multicolored glows and scaring away the dark. Pulsating cinnamon, glowing chartreuse, specks of shimmering sapphire and the dance of melon float polka dots.

 

He pushed himself off, coal dust scattering into the air and into his throat. He coughed, esophagus itching for relief. His fingers rubbed his neck, and Cecil stumbled out of the coal cart.

 

“Never doing that again,” Cecil said, choking on dust and coughing up coal-riddled saliva. As he stepped off the cart's bottom ledge, the coal stopped entertaining the tunnel. The colors vanished, as did the various coal piece activities. Once bathed in the lush colors of the coal's eerie properties, the tunnel resumed its dreary life.

 

Cecil grabbed his gas mask and flashlight, pointing the light at the gas mask as he wiped off debris. He scrubbed coal dust from the goggles.

 

Thumps. Metal clanking. Abandoned bones cracking as something trampled over them. The temperature in the air rising, flushing against Cecil's cheeks.

 

Cecil glanced back, then turned around and pointed his flashlight at the end of the tunnel way from where he came with the coal cart.

 

An enormous creature turned the corner of the tunnel several hundred feet away. Even from that distance Cecil saw its bulky height filling up the breadth of the tunnel. Furry legs skittered towards him like a spider finding its prey. Ooze dripped from its body, like ink, like black blood slopped against the rails. The metal fizzed once in contact with the dripping slime.

 

“Acidic,” Cecil said, nodding as the creature stopped to sniff a pile of bones Cecil didn't remember passing. He watched the creature roll out a furry black tongue, its fur more spikes than plush. The creature licked the bones up into its mouth, crunching as it stared at Cecil's flashlight beam with its dozens of frog-sized eyes.

 

“Enormous,” Cecil added as the creature swallowed the bones in one go. “And ravenous.”

 

_Perhaps it talks_ , Cecil thought. He waved to the creature. “Hello!” he yelled, his jovial voice carried down the tunnel.

 

The creature swayed, turning with its oversized spider legs to face Cecil properly. It opened its mouth, and even from the far distance Cecil could pinpoint several sharp teeth.

 

“Carnivore,” Cecil noted.

 

The creature roared at him, a low-pitched screech that reverberated against the tunnel walls and sent several inches of dirt cascading from the ceiling. The screech reached Cecil, flipping his stomach and rattling chills down his spine.

 

“ _Hungry_ carnivore,” Cecil said, nodding as he swiftly turned around and ran away.

 

His feet stomped over the rails as he raced down the tunnel. He heard the fizzling metal as the creature climbed over the rails and darted towards him, a slithering sound echoing straight into Cecil's ears. Like auditory venom. Biting Cecil's neck without touching him at all. Cecil shivered, running with his flashlight focused on the tunnel ahead of him. The rails stopped, presumably because something had already deteriorated it long ago and presently chased him.

 

His heart raced, his throat begged for water. The slithering echoes numbed parts of his body and Cecil didn't realize it until he dropped his gas mask. He let it tumble somewhere behind him, and everything on his mind focused on keeping his flashlight in his hand.

 

The creature growled. Climbing over the coal cart. The tunnel lighting up in an array of colors before the ooze destroyed it completely.

 

_There._ Several yards away, a ladder lay propped against the wall. Leading somewhere above, a hole in the ceiling. Cecil did not care where, it could lead into Station Management for all he cared, but he simply did not want to end up as a creature's lunch.

 

He might have befriended it had it not been starving for a meal since City Council closed the mines. A realization popped up in Cecil's head as he stumbled when tripping on a rail. He caught himself, colliding with the wall momentarily before rushing on.

 

City Council closed the mines because of that creature and its hunger.

 

“You poor thing,” Cecil whispered. He looked over his shoulder, and it snaked towards him still with its bulbous body and thick legs.

 

Cecil ran and hopped as soon as he reached the ladder, fingers grasping the rungs and pulling himself up, one rung after another. Steps lithe and his head light. Flashlight beam scattering as his hand twisted this way and that.

 

Three feet until he reached the hole.

 

Two feet.

 

One foot until and he felt a thorny tongue wrap around his leg, thin spikes pulling him down.

 

He dropped the flashlight, not looking back to see if it clunked onto the creature's head. Cecil grasped one of the last rungs, palms sweaty and one of his last thoughts being that he should have wiped them on his shirt before he started climbing.

 

His hands clung to the last rung, palms slipping, sweat sliding over his skin and rust flakes falling onto his clothes before—

 

A shot rang in his ears, the sound pulsating and blanking out Cecil's senses. The tongue unraveled, a roar slicing the air. Dizzying fatigue gripping Cecil, and he slipped, letting go of the rungs.

 

A pair of arms shot out and grabbed his, pulling him up, from the oblivion of the tunnel below and into a world washed with light.


	5. Le bel ange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Cecil re-unite. Their reunion reminds Cecil just how much he missed Steve, as odd as it sounded. It might have been the solitude of the tunnels that led him to ache in his bones. It might have been the relief of seeing Steve Carlsberg and his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Happy Friday the 13th! Just wanted to thank you all for reading, whether stopping by or coming along for the ride. Visiting means a lot to me, so thank you! :)

Someone called out his name. An echo, pushing the block in his ears. The ringing in his ears drawled, pulsated, plugged as it pleased. Shock waves. Shocked senses.

 

It didn't hurt. He felt no pain, after all.

 

The light blinded him from above. Someone blocked it from reaching him, an obsidian silhouette.

 

Were those angel wings he saw? No, they couldn't be. City Council hunted angels, although they believed angels to be extinct. No, what he saw was light refracting with his glossy vision.

 

Cecil blinked the tears away. With the blinding light blocked, his eyes relaxed, eyelids lowered. Eyes refreshed in their blurry oblivion.

 

“Cecil.”

 

A voice. Velvet. Like water rushing over skin after running fingers through sand. Not rough and coarse like the event beforehand, but lush, precious, something worth holding onto.

 

“Cherry pie, you okay?”

 

Cecil opened one eye, the light still blinding. He opened his mouth to speak, but nonsense gargled out, his throat like sandpaper. He inhaled and exhaled, lungs aching with the influx of oxygen as he caught his breath.

 

“Here, I'll help you sit up.”

 

A rush of warmth under his neck. Cecil's eyes snapped open at the touch of Steve's hand against him. He sat up with renewed vigor running through his veins. Cecil rubbed his cheek, unsure why it hurt. He rubbed his arms, aware of why they hurt. Steve had pulled him up, and although thankful for that, Cecil could not help but leave his thoughts elsewhere.

 

“That poor baby,” Cecil said, running his fingers through his hair. Coal grains and feathery locks brushed against his fingers.

 

Steve let out a sigh. “You almost died, Cecil,” he said. “I can't _believe_ you're so calm about— _oh my god_ you're bleeding—!”

 

Steve pulled down Cecil's wrist, revealing several running streams of blood. Cecil swiped his fingers over the blood, and he uttered a small “hm” over the details.

 

“That's _it_?” Steve groaned. “You're bleeding to death and all I get is a simple 'hm'? Cecil, honestly.” He nudged Cecil off his legs. Cecil scooted off his partner, thoughts running through his head such as “when did he start lying on Steve?” and other exciting adventures. Steve ripped off the bottom portion of his shirt.

 

“No need to go through that trouble,” Cecil said, doing his best to not reveal his devastation of Steve ripping apart his NVCR shirt.

 

“Unless you can heal, which I wouldn't be surprised by, you don't have to say anything,” Steve said, wrapping the shirt ribbon around Cecil's forearm. His eyebrows furrowed. “Can't believe you didn't put pressure on this earlier.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Cecil said, averting his gaze downward where his blood stained their clothes. Purple and red clashed together.

 

“You better be sorry. You nearly turned into walking takoyaki back there with that thing, you know.”

 

“Walking what? And that poor thing is hungry, for your information.”

 

“Tako—“ Steve twisted his lips into a frown. “Thank goodness I found you in time.”

 

Cecil blinked, facial expression softening. “How did you do that?”

 

“Do what?” Steve twisted the wrapped shirt bandage into a bow for closure.

 

“Sheer adrenaline, I suppose,” Cecil mumbled, squishing Steve's upper arm with his free hand. “Couldn't have lifted me normally, I suppose the excess adrenaline made up for that.”

 

“Stop investigating into details,” Steve said. “We don't have time for that.”

 

“We might,” Cecil said. His shoulders drooped, and he looked up at his taller companion. “Thank you, Steve Carlsberg.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For saving me.” Cecil felt the flush rushing to his cheeks, and he looked down. “For hauling me up. Although we should really feed that creature. It's hungry.”

 

Steve grimaced. “You mean that thing's not dead? You've got to be joking.”

 

“You might have scared it off,” Cecil said, gaze resting on the abandoned shotgun. He remembered neither Steve shooting it nor dropping it.

 

Cecil rubbed his leg where the creature's tongue tore holes into his pants. He slipped his fingers under the fabric, prodded to see if he bled, and pulled his hand back out. No blood. A positive sign, although internal bleeding might have occurred without his notice.

 

“Poor thing,” Cecil whispered, leaning over the hole and unable to see Steve roll his eyes. Cecil's flashlight shone a sole beam in the darkness, a speck of sun in the ink.

 

Cecil glanced around at the tunnel he sat in. Steve's floor looked to be lit, its electric system still working. It might have been turned on, in which case Steve Carlsberg was brilliant for tinkering with the technology until it worked.

 

“You should probably stay away from that,” Steve said, a hand on Cecil's shoulder. “It could climb, for all we know.”

 

“It can't fit through.”

 

“What?”

 

“It's too big to fit through the hole,” Cecil said. “Too big to navigate the elevator.” His facial expression softened, mouth parting as he stared at the hole.

 

Less a hole and more a prison.

 

“We don't even have anything to feed it with,” Steve said. “Even if we _wanted_ to feed it—!”

 

“Do you have any corpses?” Cecil asked, eyes bright.

 

Steve stared at him, as dumbstruck as he was mortified. His wide eyes revealed no mention of the thoughts overturning in his head. His gaping mouth hid his immediate dismissal of offering to lug a body through the hole. He gulped. “Well, there _are_ corpses, but we shouldn't—?”

 

Cecil hopped to his feet. “Let's bring one over, then! Feed the precious darling.”

 

“That thing nearly ate you and you call it _precious_.”

 

“No, I call it precious _darling_. Get with the times, Steve Carlsberg.” Cecil stepped forward, swaying as the blood rushed to his head.

 

Steve leapt to his feet and wrapped an arm around Cecil. “Let's not rush,” he said. He pressed a hand against Cecil's chest. “Would you look at that, your heart's racing.”

 

“That's also adrenaline, but I'll be fine,” Cecil said. “We should go and find a corpse.”

 

“Listen, Cecil, I went through about five times as many floors as you have. Been rushing around and all. Countless bodies and all, but we don't want to disrespect the dead, all right? So I've got a proposal for you. We'll figure out this trial first, then we'll ask Bridge and Maybe if we could feed the beast.”

 

“It's Bridget and Maeve,” Cecil corrected. “But okay, Steve Carlsberg. We'll go with your plan.”

 

Cecil still preferred his course of action, but Cecil didn't have his gas mask and flashlight anymore to wander around with. For all he knew, Steve traveled through poisonous spores to get to Cecil.

 

Cecil turned his head. “Stevie, _where_ is your equipment?”

 

Steve's eyes lit up. “Oh, that reminds me.” He wrapped his hand around Cecil's and pulled him forward. “I found this place earlier. You'll love it. But close your eyes.”

 

Steve pulled Cecil with the hand that wasn't bandaged. Under the bandage Cecil felt blood stir once more, flooding the shirt bandage with red. The cold air, he reasoned, would help the blood clot. He would remind himself to put an antibacterial gel on it, but City Council placed a temporary ban on anything antibacterial because the bacteria were rioting, and nothing should instigate the conflict until City Council worked it out.

 

“Close your eyes,” Steve said again.

 

“This is rough terrain,” Cecil said, gesturing to the lumpy tunnel floor. “I could trip and fall into another dimension, if the tunnel wills it.”

 

Steve stopped, turning around to face him. “If you say so,” he said. He shrugged, smirking. “We'll just have to go about this another way, won't we?”

 

Cecil opened his mouth to protest whatever Steve intention's were, but Steve swept him off his feet.

 

Literally. Cecil's mind could not process it quickly enough. His feet were rooted to the ground one moment, and in the next they were swinging in the air, Steve's arms positioned under Cecil's knees and under Cecil's back.

 

“I never intended to be a bridesmaid,” Cecil said, staring at Steve now that their eyes were at equal height. Cecil rested his fingers on his lap, flattening the wrinkles of his bloodied shirt.

 

“Now close your eyes,” Steve said. “You have nothing to fear now.”

 

_Except for the fear of you dropping me_ , Cecil thought, but he wholeheartedly placed his trust in Steve and closed his eyes.

 

He kept his eyes closed, Steve stepping forward. Cecil listened to the sounds of the shadows moving around beyond the lit tunnel lights. The glow of the lights raised the temperature, but the whispering winds pushed fresh breezes against their skin. Cecil listened to the wind's distant laughter, unsure if Steve heard the same.

 

“Where are we going?” Cecil asked, eyelids still lowered.

 

“It's a surprise,” Steve said.

 

Cecil leaned against Steve's shoulder, pleased by the comfort of the rhythmic movement. Cecil fell in love with Steve's smell, an aroma familiar as of late. He sensed melon and pineapple, two fruits always somewhere in Steve's house. There was an underlying scent of lavender and sandalwood, from the fresh lavender Steve occasionally plucked for Cecil when giving him a bouquet. Another whiff, and Cecil realized the fresh notes of sandalwood reminded him of Steve's porch, where they spent several late nights talking about the weather before heading to the radio station. Memories lingered in Steve's scent, and Cecil did not mind closing his eyes. The memories drifted behind closed eyes, Cecil leaning against Steve as the latter walked on.

 

Steve turned a corner, and the temperature dropped several dozen degrees. Shivering, Cecil nearly opened his eyes, but Steve's “Not yet” convinced Cecil otherwise.

 

Steve lowered Cecil onto stone, and Cecil felt around the flattened expanse of rock. The chilly air brushed over his skin, and dust clung to Cecil's fingers.

 

“Before you open your eyes,” Steve whispered, “I'll explain a little about this little paradise.” Steve sat beside Cecil, their legs knocking against one another.

 

“Okay,” Cecil said, smiling as he kept his eyes closed. “Tell me about this 'paradise' of yours.”

 

“First of all, it's only a paradise because you're here with me.” Cecil grinned, and Steve continued. “Second, no one's really explained these mine shafts to us, but judging by that trash can in the corner, I'll assume a few things. I'm thinking the miners found this place and decided to use it as sort of a break room.”

 

“Like the station's?”

 

“Not exactly. There's no electricity in this room.”

 

“I can sense light,” Cecil said.

 

“I never said it was electricity.”

 

“Oh. Bioluminescent spores?”

 

“No.”

 

“Bioluminescent corpses, then.”

 

“Cecil.”

 

“Steve Carlsberg.” Cecil shrugged, smiling. “Carry on.”

 

“And finally,” Steve said, “due to the fact that there's no one else here, I'd like to dedicate this place to you, Mr. Cecil Baldwin. You can open your eyes now.”

 

Cecil opened his eyes, eyelids fluttering as he looked around.

 

Gems. That was his first thought. Luminescent rock, poking out of the ground beside ice stalagmites. They poked out of the walls, as well, hiding behind layers of dirt and stone. The room could have held the entirety of the radio station, and then some. Carts with glowing stone sat abandoned against the walls, lingering beside pickaxes and other equipment. The rocks glowed a color between periwinkle and Persian blue, their dim glow lighting the room. Cecil glanced at the floor and found that he and Steve _sat_ on a large expanse of rock, the glowing stones mixed within. He scratched at the rock's surface, and the rock resounded with the slow pulses of a glow.

 

“That's lapis lazuli,” Steve whispered, leaning over. “Though definitely not the normal kind.”

 

“I thought this was a coal mine,” Cecil said. “They mined ore here, too?”

 

“Lots of things they don't tell us,” Steve said. “But don't worry about what the town hasn't told us. Just focus on how beautiful it is. It's not the regular kind of lapis lazuli, either.”

 

“Lapis lazuli doesn't glow,” Cecil said, staring at the stone with its streaks of glowing white mixing in with its glowing hues of blue. He turned back to Steve. “Lapis lazuli isn't even local to this _area_.”

 

“There are oddities, you know that,” Steve said. “But that's what makes it special.” He tapped Cecil on the nose. “Just like you, cherry pie.”

 

“I'm not special. I'm just Cecil.”

 

“You're special _because_ you're Cecil. My Cecil.”

 

Cecil's cheeks tinkled pink at the way his name rolled off Steve's tongue. He looked around again. There was something oddly _captivating_ about the entire room, and Cecil felt no utter desire to leave despite the fact there was a _trial_ going on and they should be looking for a _treasure—_

 

“Oh, and while I was snooping around in here, I decided to get you a present.”

 

—and maybe the treasure was staying by Steve's side, because all those anxious emotions in Cecil's stomach vanished in an instant.

 

Steve dug into his pocket and pulled out something hiding in his fist. Never mind the fact that Cecil's blood had dried on both their clothes. Cecil focused on the obsidian of Steve's eyes, Steve's lanky structure lit by the glow of the lapis lazuli underneath. Steve held a hand out, and Cecil rested a palm on it. Steve turned his hand over and dropped his gift into Cecil's palm, clasping Cecil's fingers over the gift.

 

“Found it earlier,” Steve said. “Thought of you.”

 

Cecil opened his hand and inspected at his present. He smiled at the eye-shaped rock, the lapis lazuli glowing in his hands now that it had garnered the attention to shine. A pearl of laughter escaped his lips as he held it up at eye-length, flipping it over in his fingers.

 

“Do you like it?” Steve asked.

 

“I love it,” Cecil said, running his fingers over the rough features of the rock. “It's almost a night light.” Cecil dropped the stone into the breast pocket of his intern shirt.

 

“It's really nice in here,” Steve said, looking around.

 

“Rather chilly, don't you think?” Cecil shivered.

 

Steve smirked, and he ran his fingers up Cecil's arm. Chills crept up Cecil's spine.

 

“We should really be heading back to the trials,” Cecil said as he watched Steve lean towards him. Cecil's gaze flickered to Steve's lips. Cecil glanced at Steve's gaze. “No, really, we should be—“

 

“A time-out won't hurt,” Steve said as he cupped Cecil's face. Warm fingers and a gentle touch. Steve pressed his lips to Cecil's.

 

Cecil's words died in his mouth as Steve's lips glided over his. Cecil closed his eyes, melting into the kiss, into lips he didn't realize he missed. Soft and warm compared to the cracked chill of Cecil's. Steve tipped Cecil's chin up with his thumbs, his fingers sliding over Cecil's neck. Cecil followed along, leaning in to the taste of Steve's chapstick, the remnants of coffee in Steve's breath, the lure of trust and companionship. Safety. Comfort.

 

The tilt of Steve's head, the untold ravenous desire, the playful lip biting that renewed a sense of something in Cecil he couldn't quite place a thought on. Steve pulled Cecil in closer, Cecil's fingers curling as they grasped Steve's shirt.

 

A momentary pause for breathing, and Cecil didn't know whether he wanted to breathe or return to kissing. He panted, breaths leaving as his lungs pulled in air. Steve pecked him on the cheek even as he regained his breath. They shared the same air, the aroma of coffee lingering with the scent of sandalwood and fruit. Steve kissed him again, pecks over Cecil's lips, his joy from kissing escaping with infectious laughter.

 

“I've missed you,” Steve said, his sigh a heaven on its own. Cecil could have listened to Steve's breathing for hours.

 

Cecil leaned into Steve and planted a kiss of his own. Gentle, and Steve reflected it as he nipped at Cecil's lips. Pecks, playful bites, a shared moment and shared breaths. Cecil melted further and further into the kisses, infectious joy singing with his heart. He could stay there and forget all the world, and he _did_ forget the world and its thoughts and his reason being there in the first place.

 

Steve ran his fingers through Cecil's hair, curling his fingers around Cecil's locks. Cecil giggled at the thought of kissing _Steve Carlsberg_ , and Steve couldn't help but capture the giggles with pecks and kisses. Steve returned his fingers to the company of Cecil's, careful not to press against the wounds, Steve netting their fingers together as the kisses wrapped them together in infectious bliss—

 

Chirping.

 

Light, joyous melodies that rang through the room. Echoing.

 

Cecil broke off the kiss, Steve raising an eyebrow as Cecil turned to the entrance of the room, Cecil's mouth parted as he captured his breath.

 

“Was that...?” Cecil ran his fingers through his wild hair, smoothing it down. He glanced at Steve's flushed face, aware that his own face was just as red. Cecil rested his hand on his neck.

 

“What was that?” Steve asked.

 

Cecil blinked. He recognized those sounds. The chirps sounded again, closer now.

 

He leapt out of his seat, rolling and stumbling before racing back into the tunnel.


	6. Not so Much as Dangerous as Soothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He chased the sounds, chirps of creatures he met moments ago. Moments that were, in fact, at least an hour into the past, although time did not tick by underground where time did not pass in the first place. The pleasure of companionship, the pleasure of seeing the other smile.
> 
> Glowing rocks. Glowing smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aPOLOGIES for not updating in like a week wow. After midnight updates are the only kind of updates am I right
> 
> Moving into my dorm tomorrow for college! Apologies for the unexpected procrastination in updating. Hope you all stick around, and thanks for reading!

Cecil stumbled into the tunnel, dirt flying where his shoes slipped against a rock in the ground, and Steve did not chase after him. Cecil had no time to think why. He followed the sound of chirping down the hall, flashbacks to the creature scurrying down the tunnel to sample Cecil's flesh.

_Poor thing_ , he thought, but his mind's commentary flew when he spotted a pair of yellow blobs in the dimly lit tunnel.

They had perched on a ladder's rungs. Cecil held out cautious palms.

"May I stroke your feathers?" Cecil asked. The birds nodded, and a smiling Cecil ran his fingers over the smooth texture of their wings. The canaries leaned into his touch, the singsong lilt of their voices filling the air. Their constant song soothed Cecil's nerves, and he forgot the world for those few moments.

"Cecil!" Steve's echo carried down the tunnel, more a stern cry than a worried one. "Come back!"

Cecil glanced over his shoulder. "He doesn't want to leave that place." His shoulders drooped, and he patted the canaries. "Let's go over there, then." He held out his fingers, and the canaries flapped their wings, one after another, hopping onto his two index fingers. Their scaly feet dug into his skin, but he did not feel it.

"Stevie is just going to  _love_  you two, I am just positive of it," he said as he walked back down the tunnel.

Cecil hummed as he walk, the bounce in his step more than enough to spur his tattoos to move around his body. Reflecting his joy, his tattoos spun around his wrists and fingers. The canaries watched. They pecked at the moving tattoos, which sped away from the canaries. Beaks hit Cecil's skin, but it was not enough to draw blood.

"Careful, now," Cecil whispered. The canaries cooed in their reply, and he smiled at them.

He walked back into the room with the glowing minerals, where Steve waited in the same spot Cecil left him. Steve's eyes lit up. Whether it was from the sight of Cecil or the canaries, Cecil wasn't sure. The wind kissed him with the usual whispers that dug into his doubts.

"Where'd those come from?" Steve asked, thus confirming Cecil's esteem-crushing doubts.

Cecil focused his concentration on the canaries. He sat down beside Steve. "I found them on the previous floor," he said.

Steve stared at them. He raised an eyebrow, a short laugh escaping. "And  _why_  exactly do they have three eyes? On either side of their head?"

"It's not odd that they have six eyes," Cecil said. "Plenty of folks have six eyes. As do potatoes."

Steve grimaced. "Potato eyes are disgusting."

"They are  _perfectly_  natural. As are six-eyed celestial beings." The canaries cooed at Cecil, prompting him to add, "And canary voices are lovely, aren't they?"

"Eh, I've heard better."

Cecil frowned. "From who?"

"From you." Cecil turned to glare at Steve, but Steve had that charming smile of his, the one that always played with Cecil's heart and made it flutter.

Cecil felt it. His fluttering heart. At times it convulsed behind his ribcage, specifically when Station Management wandered around, but that did not matter at the moment. No, what mattered was that his heart fluttered, like a butterfly's wings. Cecil's words died in his mouth, the joy of Steve Carlsberg's response filling him. And he melted, Cecil  _absolutely_ melted with that dreamy smile.

The canaries chirped, but all Cecil could concentrate on was the fact that Steve Carlsberg thought Cecil's voice— _Cecil! Of all people!_ —sounded lovely.

Lovely.

"Earth to Cecil," Steve whispered. "You okay?"

Cecil fluttered. "Hm?"

"You okay?"

"I am outstanding, thank you for asking," Cecil said.

"Maybe we should focus on the trial."

"What trial?" Cecil glanced around. "Oh.  _That_  trial." He fixed his posture. "It has come to my attention that we must find that treasure as soon as possible, now that I think about it."

"We don't have to go back up there, do we?" Steve leaned back against a boulder, one that Cecil did not recall being there before. "I'm thinking we should just relax here. With the birds. We don't have to do the trials."

"We're obligated by Station Management to do so! Think of Night Vale, Steve Carlsberg. Night Vale needs its reports. There are things to report."

Steve shrugged. "Nah. Tomorrow doesn't exist. We'll be fine for the moment."

One of the canaries preened, and the other took the task of singing, its lilting echoes filling the vast room.

"What do you think the treasure is?" Cecil asked.

"Has to be this room," Steve said, looking around. "No way that the miners would have left this behind."

"Steve Carlsberg, while it is more than possible to transport this entire area back to the surface—"

"No, it isn't, Cecil—"

"Do not interrupt," Cecil said, eyebrows furrowing. He cleared his throat. "It is possible to transport this area, although you do not think it so, Mr. The-Laws-of-Physics-Do-Not-Agree-With-That Carlsberg. It is simply likely that they only wanted a sample of this room."

"A sample?" Steve glanced around, drifting into his thoughts. He looked to the birds, then to Cecil's arm. His lips curled downward. "Cherry pie, may I ask what those birds are doing trying to pierce your skin?"

"They are not piercing my skin! No, lances would do that."

"Lances?"

"As in jousting. The sport of jousting is a sport, thankfully, that was canceled by the PTA due to lack of funds."

Steve snorted. "Lack of funds?"

"Well, yes. They could not afford to feed the horses, as they survived even though fifty percent of participants did not."

Steve squinted, scrutinizing Cecil's facial features. Cecil stared at him back, a curious note to his own gaze. Eventually Steve just waved the topic off, and held out his hand.

"Give me the birds," he said.

"Why?" Cecil asked.

"I can't have them hurting you anymore," Steve said. "I bet that's why you have those wounds on your arm, hm?"

Cecil shrugged, glancing at his darling canaries. "I am not one to lie about things, but I may avoid such trivial things. Night Vale does not notice most bodily harm. Neither do I."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I know the birds hurt you, Cecil. Give me the birds."

"They are very friendly, I promise," Cecil said. "The initial meeting was simply more thorns than rose petals, that is all."

" _Uh-huh._ " The cursory glare Steve gave was not, in fact, the normal friendliness that floated out of him, but rather a clear and quick dismissal of Cecil's remark. Steve beckoned with his finger.

"I find them pleasant," Cecil said. "They sing. And they are very soft."

Steve sighed. "I'll go find some gems, then," he said, standing up.

Cecil's eyes followed Steve as he walked around the room. Steve plucked a pickaxe from the ground, one of the scattered pieces of equipment left behind. Steve twisted the pickaxe in his hands, marveling at the smooth wood and wiping away dust from where the handle where it had gathered. It must have felt nice in Steve's hands, Cecil realized, as Steve spent about two minutes marveling at the pickaxe, turning it around, peering at the handle, brushing away dirt crumbs. Steve glanced up, found Cecil staring at him, and quickly looked away. Cecil heard him cough as he turned around and focused on the nearest glowing rock.

"Is it safe to do that?" Cecil asked. "Surely it must be, but would it not be safer with a construction helmet?"

"I'll be fine," Steve said. "You worry too much, you know."

"I do not worry. I express concern over Night Vale's citizens. Especially if they believe in mountains but not in six-eyed beings."

"Okay, the mountain thing is a whole other story," Steve replied. "Your stories are bogue, Night Vale's stories are bogue, and mountains  _do indeed exist_."

Steve lifted his pickaxe over his head and swung down. The pickaxe splintered the packed stone around the glowing lapis lazuli, and Steve hammered his pickaxe into the stone until shards of lapis lazuli broke out. A peculiar sonic wavelength rattled the cave as he did so, but Steve did not appear to hear it. Cecil heard it, as well as the birds, as they started flapping their wings, even twisting around to stare at the splintered mess of the lapis lazuli. The sonic wave flew in and out of Cecil's ears, like the whir of listening to a television recently turned off. Like the rapid pulse of a television set's heartbeat, radiating from its source in the dead of night, with no one around to help you when the sound crawled into your ears and into your heart.

"He didn't mean that bit about the mountains," Cecil whispered to the canaries. "Don't worry. Stevie does not realize what he is saying. If Station Management is listening, please forgive him. I do love him very much, but at times his thoughts are as scattered as the stars above."

Steve having punctured the lapis lazuli, he dropped the pickaxe and crouched down to pick up fallen remains. He carried the glowing particles over to Cecil, sitting down beside him again, if not closer.

Cecil stared at the glowing shards, like twinkling stars in Steve's hands. The canaries inspected them as well, leaning in closer before realizing they could be singing. The canaries chirped, and Cecil tore his gaze away from the lapis lazuli to stare at Steve.

"I know you already have a piece," Steve said with a careful voice, cautious and methodical but still captivating to Cecil.

Cecil glanced down at his shirt pocket, where his eye-shaped lapis lazuli stared at him back. "Mhmm," he murmured, glancing up again.

"But I'm pretty sure this is the treasure," Steve said, smiling. "And I'd like you to have it."

Cecil blinked. "No, Steve, you worked hard to get that lapis lazuli—"

"No, no, no, I insist," Steve said. His shoulders drooped. "I just wanted to trade them for the birds, you know? Because they remind me of you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're sweet and puffy. The color of their feathers is that same pale yellow of your hair. Well, almost the same. Theirs is darker. Yours is nicer. And softer."

Cecil stared upwards, spotting his wispy bangs at the outskirts of his vision. "That sounds like nonsense."

"I only tell the truth, cherry pie." Steve smiled. A gentle smile, one that Cecil didn't see often around Steve's other companions. "And you deserve to be Night Vale's host. So I don't see why not. Have the rocks. I don't want them."

"But that's your victory," Cecil said.

"My victory is seeing you happy," Steve said, leaning forward to peck Cecil's nose.

Cecil closed his eyes, a smile warming his lips. "If you word it that way, I suppose we can do a trade."

"They'll probably fly away when we get up there," Steve said as he dropped the lapis lazuli shards into Cecil's pockets. "Might as well enjoy the time with them we have now."

Cecil handed the canaries one by one. They stopped singing when they settled onto Steve's fingertips. "I would fly away too, given the option of a cave and Night Vale's skies," Cecil said. He sighed, staring up at the ceiling in a wistful dream state. "I know of a few who do that daily. Walk on the clouds and the stratosphere's floors. Being the wind themselves. At times they're a hindrance, but at other times? They clean up the skies at night, brushing away all those clouds. Giving Night Vale the starry night sky it deserves."

"I don't believe the wind walks around the sky and sweeps up the clouds, but all right," Steve said. He stood up. "Shall we depart, then? Back to above ground."

"What about the creature?"

"The seals probably keep that thing below ground, anyway," Steve said. "We'll have to talk it out with Bridge and Maybe."

"Bridget and Maeve."

"Whatever." Steve shrugged. "Anyway, that thing's hungry, so I recommend we head up there quickly. Make sure we finish this trial before feeding it."

"But we will talk to the twins to get the creature food?"

"Yes, Cecil."

"I'm just making sure," Cecil said. "Poor darling deserves it."

"After nearly tearing you to bits with that tongue? Sure." Steve rolled his eyes, but Cecil didn't see it.

Cecil granted himself one last look at the gorgeous room of the glowing lapis lazuli, his eyes glossing over every aspect. To be able to recreate it in his dreams, spending time there staring at those bits of glowing rock that gave them a starry night sky hundreds of feet below ground.


	7. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip back up. The tune of canary joy. Twins and overheard monikers.

Confidence. Steve walked with it, flashlight turned off in his pocket and gas mask long abandoned. Flickering lights led the way, and every once in a while Steve found the off switch for the lights behind them. Cecil glanced back to stare at the darkness creeping behind them, lingering where they would not.

The canaries sang their songs, growing used to Steve's calloused fingers instead of the smooth surfaces of Cecil's.

Cecil's thoughts ran rampant with questions, but in his mind drifted the sickly sweet pleasantries of Steve's trade. Steve Carlsberg deserved to win that trial, as it was his victory to cut the rocks and return a portion of the treasure back to the surface, but Steve gave it to him. To Cecil.

To Cecil Baldwin, an intern who could not even acknowledge his own flesh wounds.

Cecil pulled out one of the lapis lazuli shards, trailing behind Steve. The rock glowed in his palm, and he curled his fingers over it, smiling over the light that peeked through his fingers. In his hands the rock warmed him, its natural glow like a natural sun.

The concept behind retrieving the lapis lazuli stirred unrest in Cecil's mind. Why the Intern Trials? Why now? The disappearance of Night Vale's Voice haunted him, as well. Where did their Voice run off to?

_And why?_

In all likelihood, Cecil guessed they would never find out. City Council would declare the new Voice after the Intern Trials, memory updates will have to be installed, and the radio station's sign will always flicker with the neon "On Air" signal.

He turned the lapis lazuli over in his hands. Cecil glanced up at the back of Steve's head. The birds cooed, and Steve turned his head.

"What are you doing? Walking by yourself and all that." Steve slowed his pace, playfully bumping shoulders with Cecil.

"I wasn't walking by myself, you know," Cecil replied. He shrugged. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"This trial is not what I expected it to be," Cecil said.

The stories his family told—nothing like the way he and Steve walked along the tunnel.

"That's because it's us doing them," Steve said. "We're sane. Unlike everyone else. There'd be bloodshed or some shit like that if anybody else was in this."

Cecil's mind flashed back to the moment Steve held the pickaxe. "You are awfully positive about that."

"That's because I am right," Steve said. "We have a nice Intern Trials thing going on. We'll go through this together one by one, no cold-hearted competition, and whatever happens, happens."

"Did you see the coal?" Cecil asked.

"The coal? Yeah, I saw it. Passed it. We're passing it now."

"No, but did you touch them?"

Steve scoffed. "And get that stuff all over me? Cecil, the dirt alone is enough. We're ruining the clothes NVCR gave us. I mean, look at yourself. You're soiled."

Cecil glanced down, biting his lip when he saw the disaster of his clothes. Steve walked on without seeing him. Cecil pocketed the rocks and inspected his own clothes—so dusted and coal dust-ridden that Cecil could have been mistaken for the ground. He wiped off what little he could, dust clouds pervading the air as he walked.

Soiled.

And maybe he would have tossed aside the comment, too, if it hadn't come from Steve Carlsberg.

"Cecil?"

He looked up as Steve stopped. Steve faced him, and Cecil halted in his steps. The canaries craned their necks to glare at Steve with their multiple eye sets. Steve saw them out of the corner of his eye and avoided looking at their threatening glare.

"I don't think the birds want you to stop," Cecil said. "I regret to say they know you are taking them outside. I suggest we move."

"Not yet," Steve said. He inhaled, closing his eyes as he stepped forward. The canaries pecked him, and he moved his arms away from his vulnerable torso. "Look, Cecil," he began.

Steve shook his head, casting aside his thoughts, and began again. "Cecil, darling," he said in a softer tone, "after we get this thing done, the Intern Trials and all, I think we should come back here."

The canaries immediately protested, capturing a smile from Cecil, who adored their reaction.

"Not you guys," Steve whispered to them, a rather harsh tone that prompted one of the canaries to jab at him. He sighed through his nose, nostrils flaring before he toned his expression back to determined complacency. "I mean you and me, Cecil."

"You want to go back here?" Cecil asked. "Why?"

"The ore room. I want to go back to it."

"But what about the creature?"

"We can return to feed the creature, too. But I want you and me to go back to that room, maybe spend the night."

"With seals to keep out the night's crawlers? Or no? I don't mind their company."

"I do," Steve said. "Definitely putting in seals or whatever. But you and I can spend the night." He smiled at Cecil, the tiniest curve of his lips. "We'd turn off the flashlights. Turn off everything. Maybe go into the deeper parts of the mines where the caves stretch for miles. And we'd lie there on the ground, with lots of pillows and blankets because I know you complain about discomfort, cherry pie."

"I do not," Cecil said. "It is simply cushioning the ground, as the Earth needs as much comfort under me as I do on top of it."

"Plenty of comfort, then," Steve said. "But we'll look at the glowing ore. And it'll remind us of the night sky, like out in the desert where Night Vale's peculiarities don't reach us."

"Night Vale does not end. It fades, only to reappear again."

Steve shrugged. "Sleeping in a room like that would be lovely, wouldn't it? You and me. And later on we'd climb back out to the surface, bike out into the desert. We'd watch the meteor shower, whenever it would be."

"Meteor showers are eternal," Cecil said, frowning. "We are the ones who visit comet dust."

"My point is, we shouldn't stress too much about these trials when we could be thinking about other things," Steve said as they started walking again. "The twins are making it out to be some sort of life or death match when it isn't. Especially between you and me. I mean, we didn't even have a choice in this."

"We made our choice when we joined the intern program."

"These trials weren't in the contract."

_Page 13, Section 13, Sentence 13_. Clearly stating the events of the Intern Trials in the event that the Voice of Night Vale disappears. Cecil had read the entire contract one night in his excitement over being accepted for the internship.

He said nothing, only letting Steve talk on.

The birds chirped until they turned another corner. Cecil recognized the cage at the end of the tunnel, as did the birds. They fluffed their feathers, chirps springing out from their beaks. They might have done a joyous dance had they more room other than the curves of Steve's fingers.

"There's the elevator shaft," Steve said.

The air tasted odd to Cecil's tongue. It might have been the coal dust that dried their throats as they walked towards the elevator, or it might have been the stench of rotting corpses and moldy meals. Whatever stirred the air, be it unsaid tension or false complacency, Cecil tasted it. It was not a metallic taste, not at all similar to blood, but it was putrid. Horrid. Like waking up to find the front door open after an entire night. Like standing behind a door listening to your friends drawl on about your very existence and how you tired them endlessly.

The wind stirred, shifting the air, but its taste remained. Not just coal dust, not just moldy lunches, but of the fears that lingered in doubts.

Cecil hauled the doors open, and he walked in. Steve climbed in after him, standing with the canaries as they sung restlessly. Cecil closed the doors, then walked to the other side of the elevator cage. He turned his back to Steve, fumbling with the controls.

"How long has it been since we came down?" Steve asked.

Cecil pressed a button, and the elevator jolted as it climbed up. Machinery whirred, gravity combining with a cable system to haul them back to the surface. "There would be no way to measure time if Night Vale is on a time pause," he said, turning around to face him.

"Oh yeah. Forgot about that." Steve frowned. "Bogue."

Cecil smiled.

"What?" Steve grinned.

"Nothing," Cecil said, reaching up to rub his neck. "It's just..."

"What'd I do?"

"It's... The way you say 'bogue'," Cecil said. "It's very..." Train of thought crashing, a laugh slipped out.

"It's very what?"

The elevator slowed to a halt. Cecil pulled open the doors, and Steve walked out first.

"Finally," Steve said, the conversation slipping from his mind as he crossed the debris-covered floor of the rotting building.

The elevator lights turned off by themselves, casting Cecil into darkness. He stared at Steve as he walked away, Cecil's feet glued by the fleeting disaster of his thoughts.

"It's very cute," Cecil whispered, the words dying on his lips before they finished.

* * *

 

Outside, Bridget and Maeve sat on a bench that most definitely had not been there previously, although they made a point of staring down Cecil and Steve until they walked over.

The late night air brushed over their faces, passing fresh breezes across their skin and through their hair.

During their departure, Bridget had gained gum from nowhere in particular, and she smacked her lips as she chewed her gum. The first few times were for emphasis. "Yeah, not getting up," she said as she resigned herself to the regular chewing motions.

"That place is covered in coal," Steve said as they walked over, "so why is it also an ore mine? That's not possible."

"Of course it is," Bridget said. "You can't tell a mine what it can and cannot be. Mine shaft's got its own personality and you can't do shit about it."

"Sorry for the language," Maeve said, offering a smile.

Bridget glared them down. "Yeah, not sorry."

"And why are there corpses down there, anyway?" Steve asked. "It just closed down-!"

"Congrats, you've found the treasure!" Bridget cried, leaping to her feet. The usual sarcastic staccato of her voice remained, but with forced enthusiasm that she was clear to emphasize.

Cecil frowned, thoughts turning over in their graves. "The treasure?"

"Yeah," Bridget said. "The treasures, to be exact."

Cecil followed the line of her gaze, following it to the canaries. The realization swept through his skin, chills running through his body as the night air lingered around him.

Treasures.

Not the rocks, but the birds.

Maeve whistled, three short notes with a sweet sound to them. Instantly the canaries flew from Steve's fingers, leaving him in a plethora of flying feathers. The canaries circled Maeve and landed on her shoulders.

"They really like her," Bridget grumbled. She rolled her eyes. "Hate it. Always pooped on my stuff."

Maeve reached up to pet them, looking to Cecil. She stared at him for a moment, her head tilted as she listened to one of the canaries cooing. She looked to Steve, then looked back to the canary on her right shoulder. "Thank you for finding them," she said.

"Why exactly were they left behind?" Steve asked.

"Funny story with the mines," Bridget said, folding her shoulders across her chest. "See, there are a few places in the mines where the friendly neighborhood spirits do not want you to go. People kept on taking mines from these places, despite the Secret Police's warnings."

"But everyone is meant to listen to the Secret Police," Cecil said.

"Sometimes people just don't listen despite our warnings," Bridget replied, shrugging. She turned to Steve. "So. Carlykins. I see you've won the first trial. That's about 33% of the trials, how grand." She rolled her eyes.

"But..." Steve glanced to Cecil.

Cecil shook his head. "You won, Stevie." He smiled, doing his best not to crack it. He knew he couldn't establish false happiness in his eyes, he felt it, but there was nothing to be done. Cecil made a mistake in trading. Steve earned it, even by accident.

Cecil's loss. And maybe that explained the heaviness in his heart, the slow, painful heartbeats.

His heart was as heavy as the rocks in his pockets, which weighed him down.

Bridget turned to Cecil. "Speaking of which, you're gonna have to hand 'em over."

"Pardon?"

Bridget held out her hand. "The lapis lazuli belongs back in the mines. You can keep a little bit, sure, but too much and you'll start turning into the creepy crawlies in the mines."

"Is that what happened to the miners?" Steve asked.

"Their spirits? Yeah. Can't lug their bodies around, though."

"Time does pass differently in the mines," Maeve explained, her light voice a flickering candle in the cold of night. "It works independent of Night Vale. In case you wanted to know."

"How long have we been there?" Steve asked.

"A while," Bridget said. "We just passed the time listening to you guys."

"Listening?" Cecil repeated.

Bridget turned to Maeve. "Every time they forget, don't they?"

"It happens," Maeve said. She stood up, the canaries resuming their singing as soon as she straightened. Maeve smiled at them, then said, "The next trial will begin in about an hour. Not that you can measure time passing in any way."

"Lady Josie ain't ready for you yet," Bridget said. "But she called us. Told us to tell you to bring her some pie from the diner."

"Lady Josie's our second trial?" Steve asked. "Why in the hell-?"

"You ain't seen hell, kid," Bridget snapped. "Maybe you will by the end of this. I don't determine where you get to go."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. He pursed his lips.

"Buy Lady Josie some pie," Maeve said. "She's not ready yet, but she'd appreciate it very much if you'd wait at the diner until she told us her house was ready."

"Pretty much," her sister said. Bridget beckoned to Cecil with her fingers. "Rocks in your jeans. Hand 'em over."

Cecil pulled out every shard from his pants and dropped them into Bridget's waiting fingers. They disappeared as soon as he set them down, which he did not find peculiar, and Steve did not question it, which he did find peculiar.

"Keep the last one," Bridget said with a nod to his shirt. She turned around, staring at the vast desert that surrounded them. Bridget turned around again. "Wow. Almost forgot."

Before gracing them with an answer, Bridget swung her fist and smashed it into Steve's face. Cecil's jaw dropped, heart lurching as Bridget's fist launched Steve into the ground. Dust flew from where he fell, and Bridget wiped her hands.

"I don't need your shit, Carlykins," Bridget said, walking away. She vanished in a blink, a blink that unsettled the landscape as if it were a glitch in the system.

Cecil dropped to Steve's side, panic swinging through his veins. "Steve!" he cried, helping him sit up.

Steve groaned, sitting up. He pressed a palm to his right eye. "Can't open it," he grumbled.

"Let me see it," Cecil said, hands reaching up only for Steve to swat it away.

Steve cursed, gritting his teeth. "Why the hell did she—?"

"She warned you," Maeve said as she crouched down beside him, producing a bag of ice from a place Cecil did not question.

Steve accepted the offer, pressing it to his eye and wincing.

"Warned him about what?" Cecil asked.

Maeve looked to Cecil. "Why, don't you remember? She asked you to not call her Bridge."


	8. Trust Palpitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A diner is not so much a diner as it is a place of congregation: where thoughts flee to linger, where unheard music strums the air, where the flickering neon sign is as fickle as emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone who's read so far! Love you all, and hope you enjoy the chapter!

Steve muttered insult after insult to Bridget, and although she was not present at all, Cecil feared for him. The punch alone turned the flesh around Steve's eye purple, which, while a pleasant color on fabric and the like, was not the sort of color Cecil wanted to see on Steve.

"Let me see it," Maeve said, having crouched down beside them. The canaries flew off as she reached towards him, the birds experiencing the open air of the arid desert.

Steve swatted her hand away, as if Maeve would incite the same punishment her sister inflicted on him. Cecil stared at Steve from his side, sneaking peeks at the mottled skin as Steve rubbed the tips of his fingers over the surface. Steve pushed the ice bag against his skin, water streaks falling down where the warmth of his fingers condensed the ice.

Maeve's gaze lingered on Steve. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "She did that knowing I could heal you," she said quietly, a slight frown curling her lips.

"That is not healthy behavior," Cecil said.

"Irony at its best, from what I see," Maeve said, glancing from Cecil to Steve. "We're not a healthy pair to be around."

"She's naturally prone to violence?"

The lights flickered behind Maeve, casting a halo around her and taking it away. Maeve nodded. "I don't believe it's her fault," she said. "Our stepfather was horrid, so I've heard."

"So you've heard?" Steve asked. "What, you ran away or something?"

Maeve smiled at him. "Let me see your face."

"Bullshit. What was your stepfather like?"

"I never knew him," Maeve said. She shook her head. "But never mind that. The story we're living is not mine. It belongs to you two."

With Cecil's prompting, a light nudge against his upper arm, Steve let down the ice bag, holding it in his hands as Maeve cupped his face. She tilted his chin up, leaning forward and sliding her thumb over the surface of his injured eye. Her brushes against his skin glowed with each and every streak, fading into his skin and taking the bruise with it. Steve blinked, slowly at first, then one flutter after another, the pain ebbing from his face.

Maeve removed her fingers. "There we go," she said, standing up. "Now go and buy that pie. Lady Josie is waiting."

"You two meeting us over there?" Steve asked. "Oh, and, um, thanks."

"It's not a problem," Maeve said, "and yes, we are. At Lady Josie's, I mean."

"Thank you for healing him," Cecil said, glancing at Steve's healed eye. "That was very nice of you. City Council would be proud."

"If the Council were proud of us we'd have answers."

* * *

 

Maeve sent Steve and Cecil back to the direction of Night Vale.

She sent them back to the National Guard station, sent them back to that seemingly endless road that would have been very endless if they hadn't paid attention to where the Mobius road ended and Main Street began.

Every few minutes Steve reached up and rubbed his eye, and Cecil watched his Steve's constant train of thought reflect in his eyes. Relief. Confusion. Relief. The ghost of a memory.

Cecil took out the eye-shaped stone, flipping it over in his fingers and running his thumb over its terrain.

Steve asked if Cecil liked the gift, and Cecil nodded. A part of him would have liked to keep the other stones, perhaps hang them from his ceiling like stars or floating souls. But the mine shaft closed for a reason, and that reason kept Night Vale safe.

_Safe_. The word launched an adrenaline rush to Cecil's mind, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Cecil?" Steve stopped with him.

"We forgot to tell the twins about the creature!" Cecil spun around, staring at the desert landscape around them. In the distance, the flickering lights of the mine shaft tricked them into thinking people could still be working.

Steve patted Cecil's back. "You did forget that, yeah." Steve walked forward to Night Vale. "So let's just meet up with them at the next trial, Cecil. Don't worry, the creature will be fine. Let's focus on the trials and get these out of the way."

With that, Steve wrapped an arm around Cecil, nudging him forward. Cecil leaned into the warmth that was Steve Carlsberg, a warmth unlike the arid desert they walked through. Cecil rested his head on Steve, lulled by the warmth. Lulled into that sense of security that diluted his panicked river of thoughts into trickling stream.

A warmth that smelled of wood and lavender and all the things that made him smile.

He might have forgotten about previous thoughts, what with their hands intertwined and Steve pecking Cecil's cheeks every so often. Cecil did not question the sudden amounts of affection. There it was, the yearning lurking under his skin, the constant craving for affection and attention. The object of Steve's fascination, which granted Cecil's importance in a world that constantly passed him by.

He might have forgotten every moment behind them had Steve not pulled him up the steps to the diner.

The Moonlite All-Nite Diner. Open at any time, whether time existed or not. Its neon sign was not seafoam green, as many citizens believed, but rather a spring mint green that sizzled with electricity. The indoor lighting lit their ragged clothes, and Cecil glanced at himself, swiping more coal dust off his clothes.

"You look great, cherry pie," Steve said, pulling Cecil's hand up and patting it. "Remember, you don't dress for anyone else. So fuck their opinion if anyone tries to call you out on it."

"Watch the tongue, Steve Carlsberg."

Steve winked at him. "Watch the beauty, Cecil Baldwin. You're lighting up all of Night Vale."

Cecil stepped into the diner, rolling his eyes as he smiled. "We need to order Lady Josie her pie."

"No one ever said what kind of pie she liked," Steve said as he walked in after him, the bells on the door jingling.

"Corporeal, of course," Cecil said as he slid into one of the booths, sinking into the plush cushions.

"And what about you?" Steve asked, pulling out his wallet.

"I'll pay, I'll pay," Cecil said. "It would be my treat. Lady Josie's paid for my pies several times before."

Steve sat down. "Wait, you've had pie here before?"

Cecil nodded. "Before I went to college, Lady Josie and I had the pleasure of conversing over dessert. Some like their pie non-corporeal."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It actually does, Stevie," Cecil said, adding yet another item to the list of Things Steve Carlsberg did not understand. "It defines preference of non-corporeal strawberry pie."

Cecil glanced out to the void beyond the diner's windows, the hot air of Night Vale's wind absent in the air-conditioned diner. Gone was the honey-and-mud scent of the air, replaced by the classic scent of strawberry pie. He listened to the absence of wind, replaced by the static white noise of the radio.

When he looked back to Steve, the waitress had already arrived and vanished, her graceful form slipping behind the counter. Cecil stared at Steve from across the table.

"So you used to have pie with her," Steve said.

"Before, during, and after college," Cecil replied. He smiled at the memories popping up in his mind. "We had pie just last Sunday," he said, netting his fingers together and resting his chin on it. "I had pie when I went backpacking in Europe. Couldn't help but think of her."

"Man, I can't believe you went to Europe to have  _pie_."

"Oh, no. I backpacked because it was a wondrous opportunity I am grateful for. By chance, I did have pie, in the country of Svitz, and I couldn't help but talk to my companion, eating pie with me at the time, about how much I missed Lady Josie." Cecil frowned. "Hm. When did I travel with someone? Well, it was Europe. Do as they do, sacrifice what they sacrifice."

Steve shot him another look, one that implied Everyone in Night Vale Was Indeed Hallucinating, despite the fact the country of Svitz was less prone to hallucinations than Night Vale. "As soon as you eat your pie we'll leave," Steve said, letting out a sigh.

Cecil picked up the underlying meaning. "You didn't order pie, Stevie?"

"At this time of night? Nah."

"Time doesn't exist, silly."

Steve shook his head, laughing. "Sometimes I forget you ever went to college. Sometimes I remember. But most of the time your word choice is messed up, and I can never see that level of maturity I assume everyone gets."

"Vernacular never reveals level of education," Cecil said. "The words in that vernacular reveal much more than the dialect."

Cecil's pie arrived, prompting Cecil's stomach to rumble. His stomach also laughed, sending pearls of bubbling smiles up Cecil's esophagus, but that was another matter.

Steve watched Cecil as he ate, Cecil sipping his glass of milk after every few bites. Cecil dipped his spoon into his slice of pie, strawberry preserves slipping out. It was similar to bloodied guts spilling out of a body, he had to admit, but it smelled nicer and there was more guilt to eating a slice of corporeal pie. The strawberry tasted of summer's relaxation, the pie crust tasting of winter and oven-baked treats. The whip cream twirled on top reminded him of mountains that did not exist, and tasted of clouds and artificial sweeteners.

Steve plucked the sticky note from the to-go box for Lady Josie's pie, staring at the scribbled chickenscratch before saying, "How'd they know this was for Lady Josie?"

"Secret Police most likely called in advance," Cecil said. "How kind of them."

"You don't find that strange at all."

"Well, it  _was_  kind of them."

"What if they had been listening to us back in the mine shaft, eh, Cecil? You could have died down there."

"Night Vale protects its citizens under certain jurisdictions," Cecil said. "I could have crossed that line without knowing." He stared at his pie, slipping another spoonful of pie into his mouth. He chewed, staring at the neon lights of the menu reflected in the strawberry glaze.

He could have died, that much was true, but that was due to a hungry creature who deserved a nice meal. A meal of what, he could not say, but an estimate directed him towards one of the carnivorous kind.

How much energy via meat the creature could sustain itself with, he did not know, and Cecil wished someone knew enough about science and biology to explain the complexity behind the food chain.

Steve did not know, as Steve's focus never found its way to Night Vale's science. He believed it to be nonsense, and it had always slipped through Cecil's mind due to its vast array of sub-subjects.

"I wonder what the second trial'll be about," Steve said.

"Lady Josie knows," Cecil said.

He gulped, thoughts flashing back to the moment Steve was announced the winner of the first trial. Happiness should have filled Cecil; recognizing Steve's win should have filled his heart with joy, should have granted his mind ease. Steve was one step closer to becoming the Voice of Night Vale, one step closer to giving Night Vale the voice it needed.

Not that Cecil read every manual he could get his hands on in the station. Not that Cecil idolized the very ground their higher-ups glided across. Not that he kept his complaints to himself and hid when Station Management left their office.

Steve deserved it, right? Steve had talent, after all, unlike Cecil. Steve could compliment Cecil all he wanted, but it was Steve who charmed everyone they ever met; it was Steve who fixed cars in his spare time and helped John Peters—you know, the farmer—see if the peach crop ever produced anything (which, of course, never happened, but the sentiment itself was welcome).

"Cecil?"

Cecil looked up. "Yes?" he asked, staring at Steve's dark eyes. Dark, like the welcoming blanket of the night sky. An abyss Cecil loved to fall into.

Steve reached over and lifted Cecil's hand. He leaned over and pecked the back of Cecil's hand. "I'm sorry I won," he said, gripping Cecil's hand tightly.

Cecil wanted to pull his hand back, but Steve held on, stroking Cecil's fingers. "It's all right," Cecil said. "You deserved it, after all."

Cecil bit his tongue, a plastic smile framing his face. The words biting him back.

_Why did he do that?_

Why did he repeat the same thing over and over? And mean it less and less?

"I didn't mean to win," Steve said. "I wanted you to win."

"None of us knew about the birds," Cecil said.

He should have known they were special. Birds left in a mine shaft? Who would leave creatures of the air under the ground? Graves were for those who could not leave the land. But tunnels? There was false hope of escape in that.

False hope. Cecil knew that well.

"If I could wind back time," Steve said, "I'd give you the birds right back."

"We don't hold that sort of power," Cecil said. "Besides, you cannot rewind what hasn't existed."

Steve sighed, setting down Cecil's hand. Cecil pulled it back immediately, resuming to eat the rest of his pie. Steve frowned, eyes running over Cecil.

Cecil heard the rise and fall of their breaths, the cold air clinging to their skin, the scent of strawberry pie filling his nose. The silent diner surrounded them, the waitress staring up at the menu and listening to noiseless music again.

" _Check, pleassse,_ " Cecil hissed into his glass cup.

"I'll pay," Steve said.

"I said I would." Cecil reached under the sugar packets and pulled out the bill. Steve swiped it out of his fingers. Steve folded a few bills and placed the bill back with the money under the sugar packets.

They waited for the swallowing sound. Cecil sipped his milk.

"Normally it's instantaneous," Cecil said.

"Cecil."

"Yes?"

"Don't give me a 'yes'. Give me the truth."

"Wasn't I responding?" Cecil raised an eyebrow.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I know you're mad about me winning the trial, accident or not."

"I'm not mad—"

"Yes, you are."

_You're forcing emotions onto me_ , Cecil thought. He blinked. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I want to apologize," Steve said, glancing down. He rested against his seat, sinking into the plush cushion. "I didn't mean to win. I didn't want to."

"You didn't?" Cecil adjusted his posture.

"I wanted you to win," Steve said. His facial expression softened, and he scooted aside the box of pie. "I wanted... I just wanted to see your face, you know? When you won."

"My face?"

"I wanted to see that smile of yours," Steve said. "Haven't I told you before, Cecil? It's my favorite smile."

"It is not magnificent, I can assure you."

"It is to me," Steve said. "I mean, everyone just has these weird smiles, probably because Night Vale is weird like that. But you? Yours is genuine. You, my mini Cthulhu, have all these nice quirks about you. And that smile is one of them."

"Smiling isn't a quirk."

"Okay. It's your talent." Steve leaned forward. "You want to know why it's great?"

Cecil shrugged. "Didn't think it was great. It is just a smile, after all."

Steve chuckled. "Just a smile, Cecil Baldwin? Your smile is not just a smile. You smile whenever Night Vale's involved. You love Night Vale Community Radio, and that's what I love most about you. Your passion.

"You absolutely adore the station," Steve continued, earning a flush from Cecil. Steve grinned, adding, "And from the purple 'Welcome' mat you clean out every few days to the coffee machine you always refill, your dedication is amazing. You refill the coffee, Cecil!  _No one does that!_  You clean everything, you say hello to everybody—except for Station Management, but I see what you mean—!

Steve broke into a grin. "You're the Voice that Night Vale needs, Cecil Baldwin. Not someone like me. I don't make sense to Night Vale, and Night Vale doesn't make sense to me. So I don't deserve that crown. You do."

Cecil stared at Steve. He swallowed his milk, listening to the rapid palpitations of his heartbeat. "I... I..." His mouth lost the words, his train of thought gone, flickering like the neon lights outside.

The sound of swallowing caught their attention, and they both turned to listen to the sucking sounds as something swallowed the bill.

Steve stood up, taking the boxed pie slice with him. "Well, I guess we should go then."

Cecil slid out of the booth, slipping a tip under his crumb-filled plate. He looked to Steve, who swept in, leaned over, and pecked Cecil.

They shared the taste of strawberry pie, Steve sneaking in another kiss after he licked his lips.

"Should've had the pie," Steve whispered, smiling. "But you'll do just fine."

There it went, Cecil's heart. Conflicted emotions, bouncing back and forth from the feelings that kept his heart heavy and his head light. A swaying mood filled Cecil, joyous and hesitant but willing and completely trusting.

And he liked placing his trust in Steve.

Steve Carlsberg never let him down.

The first trial was an accident, no more, no less. Steve confirmed that. Steve Carlsberg supported Cecil— _Cecil!—_ for winning the Intern Trials.

Steve clasped his hand around Cecil's. "Let's win you that microphone," he whispered, pulling him out of the diner.

Steve opened the door for him, another chivalrous trait to the charming Steve Carlsberg, and the dry air sucked the moisture from Cecil's throat. He did not mind.

Even in the dry desert air, being with Steve Carlsberg made him forget that.

They passed the diner's neon sign, its normally flickering light now as steady as their grip on each other. Dry wind rushed through Cecil's puffy hair, blowing his bangs into his face even as he swept them away. The red light of the radio station tower blinked, a sight Cecil could not tear away his gaze from.

_Soon_. The words found their way to his lips, but his voice couldn't part with them, instead holding them near and dear to the heart that hoped.

It felt rushed. Everything: the trials, the nonexistent time, their lives. It felt rushed even with the slow pace Steve and Cecil walked, but they passed the radio station in moments, passing it and moving on. The trailer park welcomed them, various Night Vale residents hiding behind their curtains in the lightless parts of their homes. Creatures skittered, the unlucky ones frozen in time from the mechanical flukes of time warping.

Lady Josie's humble abode waited in the distance, its lights revealing that it was not a humble abode at all, but rather something else entirely.

Like a bowl of ice cream with cactus spikes.

Like a lighthouse beam in the middle of a cave.

Like the bouquet of flowers hiding the skull vase it sat in, eye sockets filled with the same stems, leaves, and petals that granted oxygen to a starving world.

 


	9. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A house, home to a lovely woman. A home, belonging to a citizen of Night Vale. Various tasks for the helping hands of interns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trouble with making a fic is updating a fic while the original content is still updating.
> 
> Thereby rendering certain headcanons useless lmao
> 
> Nevertheless this is an AU! So slight differences from the podcast will occur, apologies! I'll try my best to make it as close to canon as possible, although who knows what future updates may hold.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The creaking filled their ears, but Cecil's sight settled on Lady Josie in the rocking chair. He saw the reason why she canceled their bowling meeting last week—a sling wrapped her right arm, although she had a glass of red wine in the other hand.

Cecil quickened his pace, shorter limbs stressing lithe steps over desert dust. "Is your arm feeling any better?"

"Better than it did a week ago," Lady Josie replied, sipping the wine that matched the color of her hair curls.

She had wrapped her hair in the classic rockabilly fashion Cecil knew her in, although Cecil did not ponder over how she managed to fold her hair together with one arm broken. In a rocking chair as old as the house itself, she swayed back and forth. Bridget and Maeve sat on the rusted bench, the twin canaries perched on the railing.

Cecil's eyes lit up. "Oh! We got your pie." Cecil set the box on the table beside the rocking chair, smiling.

"Why thank you," Lady Josie said, glancing to the box. "Is it corporeal?"

"Yep! Corporeal fork, too." Cecil looked to the twins. "Hello again!"

"Welcome back," Maeve said. "I see you're in a better mood."

"Pie does that to people," Cecil said.

Steve stared at Lady Josie. "If you don't mind me asking," he said to her, "what exactly happened with your arm?"

"Oh, this?" Lady Josie moved the crook of her elbow, sling in tow. "Broke my arm last week fending off those foxes at last week's Trailer Block Party."

"Foxes?"

"The Ferocious Fennec Foxes," Cecil said, nodding. "Steve, didn't you hear the radio two nights ago?"

Steve shook his head. "Since when are foxes native to this area?"

"Oh, they aren't." Cecil winked. "They're actually native to south Night Vale."

"Disregarding that," Lady Josie said, setting her wine glass down and standing up (Cecil rushed to help her, of course). Lady Josie grinned at Steve and Cecil. "You two are sweethearts, offering to do this for me. Although it took me by surprise at first."

"Speaking of which," Steve said, glancing to the twins, "what  _are_ we doing here?"

Bridget leapt to her feet. "You two get the lovely task of doing household chores," she said, relishing the look on Steve's face.

"Anything to help Josie," Cecil said with the chipper tune of his voice, ignoring Steve's glare.

"Of all things to do for trials, why do chores?" Steve asked.

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "Unlike you, Carlykins, Lady Josie works at the hospital when she's not practicing her blossoming opera career"—Lady Josie beamed at that—"and her broken arm makes it hard to do that sort of thing."

"It's the middle of the night," Steve said. "Why would she be doing chores?"

"One, there's no time at all right now," Bridget said, "and two, it's been building up over the course of the last few days."

"Sorry to burden you all with this," Lady Josie said, pulling out a folded paper and handing it to Steve. "There's a list; I made some notes in the margins for you two."

"Why, thank you," Cecil said. "And believe me, Josie, it's no trouble at all. Eat your pie, drink your wine, and rest those bones of yours. They don't grow back unless City Council approves of them, you know."

"I wasn't aware of that," Lady Josie said, frowning. "I just thought they healed? Like normal bones?"

"Those are normal bones."

"Hm. My mistake, then."

" _Uh-huh_."

Cecil shot Steve a look when he heard the sound of Steve's deadpan tone, the unsaid sarcasm lingering in the air. He turned his head to the twins. "So this list... we simply complete every task asked of us?"

"That's how chores work, yeah," Bridget said. "Funny thing about this particular trial. It doesn't matter how many chores you do together or apart. It doesn't matter how many chores you do at all."

"You don't have to complete them, honestly," Lady Josie said, shrugging as she sat back down in her rocking chair. "They merely recommended me to compose a list for you two."

"What matters is the execution," Maeve said. She rubbed her neck. "Not an Antoinette execution, of course," she said quickly, laughing uneasily, "but rather the style in which you complete them!"

"Okay, now that you know the rules, go," Bridget said with another shoo-ing gesture. She stepped forward, and with a twist of their shoulders, sent Steve and Cecil in the direction of the door.

The floorboards creaked under them, and Steve halted. "Wait, how do we know when the trial's done?"

"You have until those birds over there digest their food," Bridget said. "We fed them not too long ago."

"Wait!" Cecil rested a hand on the doorknob, but did not turn it. "Bridget, Maeve, there's a creature down in the mines..."

"I'm aware," Bridget said. "We call it Chupa."

"Like the lollipop?" Steve asked.

"Yes, you moron, like the lollipop." Bridget rolled her eyes. She turned to Maeve. "Can you  **believe**  this guy? ' _Like the lollipop_ '."

"Whatever," Steve grumbled. "Cecil, open the door."

Cecil met Bridget's gaze. "Well, Chupa looked hungry," he said.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll feed it while you're doing this trial," Bridget said. "It's just that we have to fill out a form every time we do so, you know, and you know laborious it is to get a seal of approval from City Council. But we'll get it done in due time. Since, y'know, time doesn't exist."

"Pretty sure it does," Steve replied.

"Pretty sure you're still in denial about being here, Carlykins, now scram."

Steve pulled Cecil's hand away from the doorknob and turned the knob, pushing inwards. The door did not creak, but a rush of cold air flew at them.

"See ya," Cecil said to the others, the cheerful tone returning back to his voice. He grinned at Lady Josie. "I'll do my best to make you proud!"

"Be careful in there," Lady Josie said. "Gets awfully dark if you don't turn on the lights. Also, a few creepy crawlies linger here and there. Haven't the slightest clue what they might be."

"We'll probably end up finding out," Steve said as he stepped in.

Bridget stepped forward. "Oh, and Cecil?"

"Yes?"

"We covered all the mirrors for you as per request."

"I never requested that," Cecil said.

"I never said that you did."

"C'mon, Cecil," Steve said, waiting in the hallway.

"Coming," Cecil said, following after him. The door slipped shut as soon as he moved out of the way, the slight slant in the flooring signaling a shift in gravity. Silence met them as the door clicked shut.

Although cool air had rushed out to meet them, the aromatic candles lighting the hallway filled the air with warmth. Cecil smelled French vanilla from the candle scent, and it reminded him of a walk after rain and finding the trash cans lit with flames—what pleasant bonfires they proved to be, kindling warmth back to his fingers when one ignored the screeching within the flames themselves.

A thrum growled upstairs, although it quieted when they looked up.

"I can barely see anything in here," Steve said, his voice carrying down the hallway in the silence that drifted between them.

Cecil looked around, staring at the photographs of people he did not recognize. He saw a painting of a dessert with a cheese orb at the upper corner, surrounded by dark blue swishes of paint.

"Moon picture's nice," Steve said.

"The what?"

"The moon." Steve sighed. "Never mind. We had a fight about that the last time we talked about it." He moved on, walking down the hall. "So what's on that list of hers?"

"Oh? Oh!" Cecil unfolded the paper. "Well, at the very top, it appears to say 'flowerfall, not rainfall', most likely in reference to the clouds we saw earlier."

"What the hell is a flowerfall?"

"Not a rainfall," Cecil replied. He looked around. "Josie's home is a lot bigger than I imagined it to be."

"Bigger then what it looked like, yeah." Steve craned his neck to stare at the ceiling. "I count three sets of staircases. There were only two floors."

Cecil stared at the list. "All houses are like that, Stevie," he said.

"No, they aren't. Why would they be?"

"I think I'll dust the library," Cecil said. "You can mop the kitchen."

"And where would the kitchen be?"

"Straight down the hall," Cecil said. "Josie's very organized."

"Her house less so," Steve said, looking around. He might have spotted the haphazard pile of letters strewn about the desk in the welcome hall, or perhaps the piles of wax pooling around the candle flames and nearly drowning them, or he might even have laid his eyes on the scattered shoes and wrinkled coats on the hanger.

Cecil did not notice any of these things, as his eyes were on the note, where they should be. "I haven't been to the library, huh," he said. "Guess I'll go there! Can't be hard to find."

"Mopping doesn't sound so bad, I guess," Steve said. "So, are you going to tell me what's on that list, or...?"

"She gave it to me, so—" Cecil clamped his mouth shut. Why had he not let Steve look at it? It was just a list of chores, after all. Dusting, mopping, scrubbing the bathroom tiles, etc.

But Steve wouldn't need to look at it, would he? He said he had no intention to win.

No, it was very likely that he wanted a sense of direction.

"After you finish mopping, just try finding the vacuum," Cecil said. "It's in cursive. I don't know if you'd be able to read it."

Steve shook his head. "Nah, I hate cursive. Gives me a headache."

"But you do write in it, don't you?"

"Only if I have to," Steve replied. "Which is rare." He headed down the hallway. "See ya later, cherry pie."

"See ya," Cecil said. He stepped to his right, down another hallway to where he believed the library to be. A phonograph and its gleaming surface caught his eye, but he hurried his pace before his brain could think to slow down. Better not to touch things and get distracted-he had a duty to Lady Josie to help her in her time of need.

Cecil followed the hallway down into a balcony area overlooking... the welcome hall.

Cecil twisted around to look at the hall he came from. He stepped back into that hallway, rushed down it, passed the phonograph, and found himself beside the candles again. The candlelight flickered, highlighting the shadows across his face, casting warmth and cold.

He returned down the hallway, finding himself peering over the banister. Staring at the candlelight from a higher angle.

"Okay..." Cecil pursed his lips, then shrugged. "Ah well," he said, walking down the second floor hallway. He passed the staircase and spotted a set of double doors, folding the note and pocketing it in his breast pocket. He patted it twice, then pushed the double doors opened.

Those doors did creak, welcoming him into a grandiose room dimly lit, rows and rows of bookshelves fading into the ceiling void. Cecil walked in, his jaw dropping as he passed intricately detailed chairs and tables that reminded him of the rococo movement he never lived through.

He tasted dust and age in the air, sensing years of collecting and years of exploring worlds previously unknown. Invisible words ran over his skin, sampling him with a sublime nature he seldom experience. It was like digging through the archives at the radio station, years and years of Night Vale's historical records stationed in filing cabinets because the library proved to be a hassle in maintaining City-Council-accepted records. The wonder, the fascination, the intrigue—settling into the air, into the shadows, into the fancy lamps activated with claps.

Cecil clapped twice, and the lit lamps popped their brightness to higher levels.

He spotted a duster in a corner vase. He walked over and pulled it out, staring at the rainbow fibers. Cecil glanced around, finding no ladders that granted him access to the higher shelves.

Being neither tall nor short, Cecil settled for dusting all that he could. He swept the duster over the surfaces closest to him, dust clinging to the fibers with his tug against the wood.

He swept away finger prints, swept away memories of where books slid off the shelves, swept away the found spots where books were popular and books were long abandoned. He swept away his thoughts, too: thoughts of the trials, thoughts of Steve buying him cherry pie, thoughts of those times when Steve scared him in the break room and his pop-up tentacles strangled Steve nearly short of his life.

Cecil smiled at the last thought he swept away, lingering in that spot by the bookshelf. He brushed away the dust beside tales from Lovecraft and moved on.

Thoughts of the canaries returned to him when the duster swept over Edgar Allan Poe. Their singing filled his mind, followed by the flushed memories of the glowing cave.

Cecil patted his shirt pocket, feeling the eye-shaped rock under the folded note. He pulled out the lapis lazuli, which glowed as it rested in the warmth of his palm. It granted him peace of mind, for that one moment, a moment where the lights kept him company and no dark thoughts could plague him.

He pocketed the rock, returning to dusting, crouching down or standing on his tiptoes when necessary.

It was less of a trial and more of a break time, now that he thought of it. His determination to win dwindled. He enjoyed the simplistic tasks more than the dire urgency everyone seemed to associate the trials.

Steve hurried the trials, as much as Cecil wanted to slow down and enjoy the time they had while time did not exist. The thought of Steve wanting to help Cecil win melted with relief. It was competition that gnawed at Cecil's conscience, and Steve's words had brushed those worries away.

It was the competitive spirit Cecil always worried about. Because while Steve appeared as he had wanted to win, Cecil felt that the trials were on his side.

In fact, it very much felt like it was his destiny to be the Voice of Night Vale. And maybe that flooded his head more often than not.

A lot more often. Particularly when his ears were glued to listening to the elegant hissing from the radio.

Cecil smiled, thinking of the break room with its eternal aroma of coffee and falsified reports of despair.

_Such_  a great room.

He always shared it with Steve Carlsberg, an added plus to the pot of gold he experienced with Night Vale Community Radio.

The doors burst open, catching Cecil's train of thought as he whipped around, frozen to his spot as he stared at the doors.

The doors banged against the wall. A cord flew in the air. A vacuum with jagged teeth hurtled straight for him.


	10. Dangerous Household Tasks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vacuums are an invention created by creatures who believe memories of past existences can be picked up by sucking air. Vacuums may or may not have minds of their own. Tables may or may not be made of edible wood.
> 
> Where did vacuums come from? Where will vacuums go? They exist in their own society of cleanliness. But all vacuums harbor a dirty past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps! Guess what? I made an FST for this fic. :>
> 
> The songs are generally in order for the entire fic, although most songs I haven't written the scenes for yet! Although usually you could listen to the entire playlist. There is the possibility that the track list might give things away. Hopefully not. I don't know what the wind whispers into your ear, how should I know.
> 
> You can find the playlist here:
> 
> http://8tracks.com/ssnebulae/light-in-the-mist
> 
> hope you enjoy the chapter! :>

The growling filled the air. Cecil scrambled to a desk, climbing on top of one and abandoning the duster. The vacuum crashed into the table, jolting the table legs. A whirring sound followed, and Cecil leaned over to check.

 

Spotting the fanged vacuum, Cecil noted that it was gnawing on the table leg. It was rather efficient, however, and Cecil jumped to another table before that table collapsed from a splintered leg.

 

The doors burst open again, and Cecil looked up to spot Steve with a dripping mop.

 

"The hell is that?" Steve asked, staring at the vacuum.

 

"Just hurry up and get on," Cecil said. "We've no time for this."

 

Steve hopped onto a chair and climbed onto a table, hopping tables until he joined Cecil's side. They watched the vacuum devour the fallen table, lamps having crashed to the ground in a fireworks display of shocked circuits.

 

Steve's nose wrinkled. "Oh, that's the smell of mercury," he said. He grabbed Cecil's hand. "C'mon, we have to get out of here."

 

"But what if that sets fire to the library?" Cecil asked. "There are precious books in here."

 

"Can't exactly help it if there's a freaking death vacuum in here," Steve replied, tugging him along.

 

"Why's it distracted?" Cecil asked, stopping. "It was aiming for me seconds before."

 

"Who cares?"

 

The thump against the door sounded again, but the door did not swing to its full extent. Instead, another vacuum—this one with a rattling turbine in its compartment—crawled in, its nozzle an enormous claw.

 

"That one looks like it can climb," Steve said, tightening his grip on the mop.

 

"The glory of evolution," Cecil said. Water droplets patted his skin, and he stared at the mop before pushing it downwards. "Steve, dear, can you put that down, it's wetting the—!"

 

The first vacuum launched itself into the air, devouring the damp yarn in one fell swoop. Steve stumbled forward, pulling the stick back, and the shock sent Cecil stumbling back, tripping over a pile of books. He fell down on his rear, but his tentacles popped out and kept him from falling to the ground.

 

Sticky tentacles guided Cecil back to the table, plopping sounds following him as he climbed back to his feet. The vacuum growled where it kept its teeth on the mop handle. Steve kicked it, and the vacuum released its grip on the splintered stick, momentum sending the handle backwards and straight into Cecil's gut.

 

The mop handle did not penetrate his skin; if it had, he wouldn't have felt the pain either way.

 

But Cecil's breath caught from the surprise of having a handle shoved into his stomach, the mop handle's momentum nudging his organs around for that brief millisecond before Steve recovered and whipped around.

 

"Cecil!" Steve stepped forward, but stepped back when the tattooed tentacles poised for attack. He raised his palms, staring at the tentacles.

 

Throbbing. Cecil rubbed his stomach, coughing as he patted the tentacles and tucked them away. "Don't hurt him," he whispered to the plucky limbs. "It was an accident."

 

"Cecil, you okay?" Steve asked, laying a hand on Cecil's shoulders once the tentacles reclined back under Cecil's skin. The tattoos slithered back to their respective spots.

 

"I'm okay," Cecil said.

 

"Are you sure? We can stop the trial, right now. Go to the hospital."

 

"No, no, I'll be fine," Cecil said. He looked over Steve's shoulder. "Rather, we should be worrying about those vacuums."

 

"Oh. Yeah. Killer vacuums." Steve turned around. "Uh, Cecil? There's a part of the table missing."

 

"Hm?" Cecil looked downward, where he found splintered wood. He spotted the clawed vacuum chipping apart their table, whereas the mouthed vacuum chewed on the table legs.

 

"We need to get out of here," Steve said, glancing at his disfigured mop handle. "Head to that table over there."

 

Cecil took a running start, leaping to one of the undisturbed tables. He landed, Steve and the vacuums following on their respective floors. Cecil folded his arms over his chest, staring at the vacuum as Steve jabbed it with the handle.

 

"That one's awfully quick," Cecil said. "The other one's slow."

 

"The other one has a claw nozzle the size of my face," Steve said. "I'd rather not have that nozzle thing stabbed into my back. And that thing will climb if it gets the chance."

 

"I wonder what prompted them to attack."

 

"Us being outsiders? Why the hell didn't Lady Josie tell us about them, that's the question."

 

"She may not be aware of them herself." Cecil cleared his throat. "Disregarding the alarming state of their teeth, we should probably find a way out of here."

 

"What's the plan? Dangerous vacuums versus Steve and mini Cthulhu."

 

Cecil sniffed, the aroma of mercury wafting into his lungs. Energy-saving light bulbs, or mercury balloons? Up for readers to decide. "We," Cecil began, looking around, "are going to run."

 

"That's it?" Steve rolled his eyes, whacking the vacuum with the splintered mop. He picked up a book and smashed it into the mouth of the vacuum. "Fast one's going to be after us in a jiffy, y'know."

 

Cecil stepped around the half-eaten remains of their table, Steve balancing himself as Cecil tipped the table as he picked up chairs and tossed them on either side of the vacuum. Cecil dragged the chairs over beside the quick vacuum, but the vacuum ignored the chairs and opted to remove the first leg of four. The table wobbled, and Steve yanked Cecil back to even out the balance.

 

"That stupid thing won't go after the chairs," Steve snapped. "It's aiming for us."

 

"I am aware of that," Cecil said with the calm demeanor ever juxtaposing Steve's rashness. "Now, follow me to the exit."

 

Steve glared at him, the vacuum's whir drowning the air in sound. "What?"

 

"Follow and run," Cecil said, stepping towards the vacuum.

 

"Cecil!"

 

The table leaned towards the vacuum as Cecil guided the weight in favor of the vacuum. Before the vacuum could latch onto him, Cecil jumped. He leapt onto the chairs gathered at the sides, Steve having no choice to follow through the sea of chairs. The vacuum whirled around and pursued chase. It bumped into the bundle of chairs, and Steve laughed at the scene. The slower vacuum swiveled around and lurched forward, claw digging into the ground. Steve dodged the claw's grip as it shredded the carpet in front of him.

 

Cecil pulled Steve along. "Don't look back, they're attention consumers," Cecil said, yanking open the door and hurrying through. Steve closed the door behind him, and several thumps on the door reminded Cecil that unlike the sentient porcelain dolls in display cases, vacuums cannot open doors.

 

Steve stared at the library door and its incessant thumping. "We just ruined her library," he said.

 

"The vacuums will sweep it up, worry not," Cecil said, turning around. "If anything, it was all your fault."

 

"My fault?" Steve swiveled around. "They're murderous vacuums."

 

"I saw that mop," Cecil said, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. "You instigated them."

 

"Huh. I remember them trying to dig into your flesh when I came in."

 

"You remember wrong," Cecil said. "They were infatuated with the furniture. I was merely an accessory on the table."

 

"An accessory?" Steve rolled his eyes. "Cecil, your memory's never really been trustworthy. All the time I've known you, and your memory seems to be the one that screws up every single thing."

 

"I wouldn't say my memory's flawed," Cecil said. "Memories are fickle like that. Sometimes they make mistakes. I mean, it just reflects how human we all are."

 

Steve's eyes wandered past Cecil's dirt-encrusted uniform, resting his gaze on the tattoos. "Uh-huh. Human. You tell yourself that."

 

Cecil frowned, fingers running over the tattoos stretched around his wrists. "Yeah," he said, with a good deal more confidence than he felt. "Human."

 

Another thump rattled the door, prompting the pair to step away from that end of the hallway. Cecil led him down the stairs back to the first floor, dark red carpet plush underneath them.

 

Steve tilted his ear in the direction of the library. "They're not thumping anymore."

 

"Did you ever finish mopping?" Cecil asked, peering at his partner with an inquisitive gaze that completely disregarded the previous events.

 

"Way to change the subject," Steve said. He sighed. "No, I never managed to finish it. There's no other mop, though, so it's as good as it's gonna get."

 

Cecil turned and walked down the hall, the echo of his footsteps resounding in the hallways. "Did you sweep?"

 

"Swept, yeah," Steve said, the sound of his footsteps following. "I know, I know, Cecil, that's normally your job in the radio station, but you were doing the library."

 

"You remember my jobs?" Cecil asked as he stepped into the kitchen. His shoes stuck to the damp floor, plop after plop after plop.

 

"Of course." Steve glanced up as he rattled a list off, fingers counting. "Changing the coffee filter, refilling the coffee, getting pizza from Big Rico's, organizing our tape archive, Station Management Keening--you know, practically every job there is to do as an intern." Steve raised a finger. "I have to clean the mirrors, though. You never go near them."

 

"Really?"

 

"It's not like you don't intend to," Steve said, shrugging. "It just happens. But don't worry about it, cherry pie. Let's finish up this trial and book it."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because honestly? I'm really tired." Steve yawned. "We were supposed to go to bed, but we went straight to an endless shift instead."

 

Cecil smiled at him. He hugged Steve, wrapping his arms around him. "You should go rest on a lounge," Cecil said. "Or one of the guest bedrooms. There's actually one down the hall."

 

"I can't sleep," Steve said, patting Cecil's back. He was the taller one, sure, but the weariness in his posture and the bags under his eyes kept him less sound than Cecil, who stood with a straight back and an alert gaze, a gaze that rested on Steve as Cecil reached up and rubbed his thumb over Steve's cheek.

 

"You need sleep," Cecil said.

 

"I can't sleep with the trial going on," Steve replied, glancing around the kitchen with its secondhand pots and pans, hanging from a rack in their scratched, metallic glory. "That's why I just want us to get this trial done and over with."

 

"We still have another trial."

 

"I know, I know." Steve stepped away from Cecil, walking across the checkerboard flooring to scoot the curtains aside and stare at the gardens. "First trial was the mine shaft, second is just a bunch of chores. Makes you wonder how the third trial's gonna be. Doesn't seem like a big deal at all."

 

"This is a really big deal," Cecil said. He shrugged, glancing to the floor as the lemon scent filled his nostrils. "Heck, I'm surprised we're taking it so casually. The worst that's happened is the state of our clothes."

 

"Your clothes, not mine," Steve corrected. He swiped dust off his shirt from where Cecil hugged him. "Cecil, I have a question."

 

"Yes?"

 

"Have you been inside this house before? Seems like you know an awful lot about it."

 

"Well, someone's obviously toyed with it to suit the needs of the trial," Cecil began, "but my memory holds record of me being here before, yes. Occasionally. Sometimes I would meet up with her here, only for her to treat me to dinner before we go out."

 

"Really?"

 

"Before we went bowling, yes." Cecil smiled at the memory, lost in a world of twirling lights and heavy balls rolling down golden lanes. He had his bowling shirt, a match to Lady Josie's, in its purple sheen and glowing glory. He had it tucked away in his closet, with mothballs saving his memories from being wiped from the memory moths. His bowling shirt saved with his memory, Cecil only looked forward to the next game with Lady Josie.

 

Maybe he'd invite Steve along, just for the heck of it. He'd seen Steve at the bowling alley before, enjoying Big Rico's pizza with friends Cecil didn't know, and Steve had always been so graceful when he swept the bowling ball down the lane. Remarkable footwork. And when he knocked down a couple of pins? Remarkable smile.

 

It was so easy to fall in love with Steve Carlsberg. It wasn't like loving Night Vale—admiration for the town came with living there, growing up there, singing songs from the local high school and enjoying a nice slice of Big Rico's pizza (which, he had to admit, he had started to crave). No, loving Steve Carlsberg was gradual and instantaneous all at once, like inhaling the scent of the desert and letting the minor details keep you rooted to the ground. Minor details, drifting into your nostrils, drifting into your very celestial mass. Minor details being gradual and instantaneous in existence, like the rolling tumbleweeds, like the skittering creatures, like the refreshing cactus juice, like sandstorms running over your skin. Details that made you appreciate its existence more.

 

Cecil loved Steve like that. Always something new to explore, always something new to look at. And in the early hours of their timeless existence, Cecil fell in love with Steve's weariness, the bags under his eyes, the slouch in his posture, the willingness to stay up so that they could finish the trials together and go home.

 

"Hello?"

 

Cecil blinked. Steve stared at him, waving a palm in front of him.

 

"Question," Steve said, "is there a guest room with a guest closet? Where we could get you a change of clothes and maybe treat that wound of yours?"

 

"What wound?" Cecil asked.

 

"The one on your—!" Steve sighed. "Never mind. Forget I asked. Take me to the guest bedroom, if you wouldn't mind."

 

"Oh! No problem." Cecil swiveled around on the ball of his feet. He walked out of the kitchen, guiding Steve to the nearest guest bedroom, which would be left of the main entrance.

 

Steve let out a sigh. "We're definitely getting you a change of clothes," he grumbled, trekking after Cecil.


End file.
